So, You’re Just Getting into Comics

To the thirty year old newly defined geek there is nothing more stinging than the question, “So, you’re just getting into comics?”. Ugh. It’s like piercing my heart with a jagged dagger, twisting until breathless. If you want to make me shudder and cower into a corner, here is how to do it.

“So, you’re just getting into comics?”bf-2

Some of the most interesting people I know, and people I would gladly listen to for hours on end, are true bonafide savants of the comic genre and industry. They work in comic book stores, give presentations at conventions, choose the reading materials for the city libraries, and have been fans of comics most of their lives. They, and the comics they read, have a history together. They don’t need movies to entice them into a comic book store, they are the people who have kept the stores afloat. They are the genuine article, and I feel like a poser.

This is a hard time to be a comic fan and to find footing in the vast clubhouse of the Comic Reader Brotherhood. Since the Marvel Cinematic Universe imploded and Chris Nolan’sBatman trilogy skyrocketed to success, comics have become the “it” thing. Everywhere you go someone is wearing a Spiderman t-shirt, children dress up as Captain America (I anticipate many Star Lord’s this Halloween), and the superhero and the actor portraying them have become synonymous (Nick Fury, anyone?). Comics have never been cooler, and it is at this juncture that I have jumped on the bandwagon. Or is it?

Let’s rewind. It’s 1987, I am only five, but I am glued to the television set at noon to watchJem and the Holograms. Soon after, She-Ra and He-Man come on. In the evening, I cap off the day with The Amazing Spiderman and Adam West’s beautifully drawn eyebrows in Batman. When I reflect on my childhood, these shows, their action figures and costumes resonate in my memories. I still watch reruns and introduce these characters to my children. My Little Pony, ThunderCats, and Transformers were as much in the books I read as they were on the screens I watched.  These characters hold a very important place in the hearts of the geek community. Mine too.

As I got older, I would watch Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson spar over and over until we needed to buy a new VHS. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was my raison d’être every Thursday, then Sunday night. I read Spiderman comics and The Incredible Hulk, at first because they reminded me of a favourite cousin, but soon after because they were coming of age stories, and I was coming of age myself. Even the first Sam Raimi Spiderman left me speechless as my friends and I drove home from the theatres. I was completely engulfed in the story- despite their choice of using Mary Jane over Gwen Stacy. Tsk, tsk.

So for a while, I knew some stuff.  And then I kind of cut out.

I still watched movies and read all the time, but I tried to be too classic, too artsy, too grown up. Could comics be grown up? I wasn’t so sure. When my son was born, very stereotypically, superheroes crept back in. Then I met Alex, who gave me a world of graphic literary possibility on a jump drive. I joined book club. I read amazing graphic novels that had nothing to do with superheroes. I fell in love with reading and storytelling all over again, in the most visually stunning and visceral way. And yes, I have read (almost) every major Marvel event from the 1990’s onward, but I just did it a little late. Batman, we still have some road to travel, you and I.

In the end, I believe, to be taken seriously by a community driven to explore, accept and promote the wonderful world that is comics (and seriously awesome ’80’s cartoons) you just have to love them. Read them. Reflect on them. And not be afraid to engage. Some of the best people I will ever know are still out there for me to meet, to discuss comics and the things labeled as geeky that they and I love. And even though I might wonder if I am just a poser looking to fit in, the terrific people I have already met lead me to believe I’m not. Maybe I am on my way to being one of you, too.

“So, you’re just getting into comics?”

No. As it turns out, I have always been into them. Maybe I didn’t know it at the time. But in these last five years I have been consumed by them.

Maybe that’s the better question to ask, next time you meet someone like me.

“So, you’re consumed by comics, too?”

By Leigha Chiasson-Locke

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Owly, A Humble Tale

I was eager to read Owly because I had seen it so often as a display text at my public library, but had passed it by every time in favor of something that struck me as more compelling. You see, the cover art did not attract me due its simplicity and cartoonish, animal art. It struck me as a simple story.

I am so glad I was WRONG!!! J

Owly is deeply moving, honestly real, and tremendously humble. It is the age-old story of discovery; the owlystaple of children’s literature as the journey tale. Owly, with his large, expressive eyes, and small stature is more than an animal; he could be any child or any adult, for that matter, who is lost in his story.

Through very basic, black and white art (almost reminiscent of sketches) author Andy Runton transitions from complete delight to utter sorrow within the space of a few panels and the direction of a few lines upon Owly’s face.

The book is made up of two short stories, both of which are engrossing. In both tales, Owly experiences the highest highs and lowest lows of friendship, and through minimal detail and varied panel size and layout, a complete range of emotions is exchanged between Owly himself and the reader. When he waits patiently by the bedside of his new friend, nursing him back to health, Runton creates atmosphere and tension in three pages of a single 3/4 panel each to convey the dismay, the worry, and the patience it takes to heal the sick. Runton’s ability to convey the passing of time is seamless as Owly waits worriedly beside a dwindling candle, or as he and worm experience a snapshot of seasons while awaiting the return of their hummingbird friends.

It is hard not to see yourself reflected in at least one moment of Owly’s story. Whether you are a nature lover, as he is; a committed friend, as he is; suffering from loneliness, as he does; or living for quiet moments, as each panel shows, Owly is a book that spans ages. The minimal to no dialogue and text makes this a perfect story to read across languages and cultures as well.

In the beginning this was a book I was not interested in from seeing the cover art alone. In the end, Owly has become a book I cherish, a gem in my collection, and one I instantly handed off to my eight year old son, who’s initial reaction was, “Oh, what a nice looking owl. I bet I will like him”. I know he will!

 

By Leigha Chiasson-Locke

Jane, The Fox, and Me

This is a wonderful graphic novel that I have often seen on the shelves of my local library, but until recently I had no inclination to pick up. But in the end, I am so pleased that I did.

jane
Jane, The Fox and Me, by Fanny Britt and Isabelle Arsenault, is a beautiful book that should be read by a broad audience of youth and adults alike, lovers of literature and metaphor, lovers of art, and lovers of introspective fiction. It is a tale of a young girl, Helen, who struggles to accept herself as she is and to fit in to an often cruel and isolating world; is as ordinary as the tools with which she was drawn, pen and ink, colourless and fine. Finding comfort in the pages of Jane Eyre, young Helen begins to see herself as promising a person as the often overlooked Jane herself.

The illustrations are stunning, I was particularly enamoured with those of the tired mother seeing to all the chores and responsibilities for her children, when late at night, as they sleep, she is mending hems. A subtle and poignant reminder of the burden and love of parenthood.

There were two lovely contrasts that I cannot go unnoticed. The first, the mirroring of Helene’s life with that of Jane Eyre’s. Jane is a character who overcomes many odds, not least that of being perceived as exceptionally plain and an outcast, but is one who ultimately  lives a life of happiness, and I think that is what Helene is looking for. The subtleties of color and shading let the reader understand Helen’s moods and circumstances. Helen, for example, is drawn with lots of shading and I think this represents how alone she feels and the way she lives in shadows, much like Jane Eyre did. She too was dark and plain, and the ability to showcase this through the artwork without having to use words to describe it and her feelings highlights Helen’s loneliness and longing to fit in.I was pleased to see that the author did not focus too heavily on the love story, but rather Jane’s personal strength and growth, so that the Helene’s growth could be for herself and not to please others, particularly romantic interests (which I think is a tad overdone in kids books). I especially like the portraits Helene drew of herself in contrast to Jane as a coping mechanism to remind her not to spend too much time on wishful thinking. She drew herself much more plain than she is, and I think many young girls would be inclined to see themselves in a similar way. jane1

The second contrast was the nature. Helene spent many of the panels and pages outside and there was a focus on the potted plants throughout the very urbanized city. Like Helene, they are not natural to the environment, but they persist and grow beautifully, much like Helene herself. The contrast of pencil and watercolour was quite beautiful and a stark contrast to the pen and ink that Helen was rendered in. The use of splash pages showcase Jane’s own feelings, and the subtext of the plants, both potted and natural, growing beautifully amidst the concrete of the world around them, mirror Helene’s own struggle to grow and accept beauty.

Social discourse is apparent through the book. Bullying is the main theme. There was a nice dichotomy between the way peers perceived Helene and the way she classified and labelled others. She, though the victim, was still prone to dole out verbal accusations and bullying, even if she kept it to herself. The addition of her friend at the end was nice and a happy resolution to the story, but I was a little concerned that the end message could be interpreted as “self worth can be found in having even just one friend” when, and this is just my opinion, a stronger message would be in the notion that self worth comes from making peace with yourself and in so doing friends will follow…. But that is the beauty of literature, interpretations are many!!

Overall, I would love to use this book with my students. I will read it again. It was quite lovely.

By Leigha Chiasson-Locke

 

 

 

Loneliness, Poignancy, and Brilliance in This One Summer

This is a brilliant novel and a worthy example of how powerfully sequential art can convey a narrative.

The story begins with the cover. In tones of blue, accented by a purple hue, it is evident that this is a tale about change. Two young girls, jumping feet first into rolling waves, are leaping into the downloadunknown. One has her arms outstretched, body open in welcome; the other is rigid, her body closed, face omitted conveying reluctance. This One Summer, the title, occupying the vast space between the girls and their rolling future; this is the summer when everything changes.

Rose, the protagonist, is struggling through the transition from child to teenager. Her summer friend, Windy, is still clinging to that innocence. Together they contemplate boys, puberty, horror films, and adult life; conventions of a bildungsroman that we have all seen before. What sets this book apart, however, is the delicate illustrations that accentuate the movement of the tale. The story as it is written, colloquially, and the elaborative illustrations that accentuate it, are a perfect marriage.

Jillian Tamaki’s illustrations are exceptional. The reader watches a freighting movie scene from under the comfort of a thin blanket with the young girls.  As Rose begins a one-sided love affair images (5)with Dunc, the older store clerk, Tamaki encapsulates his romantic dalliance with Jenny in the frame of a chewy foot candy; sweet, youthful, and hazily understood by Rose. Later, an aerial view of the beach is gently sexualized as it is drawn like the contour if a man’s body. Tamaki envisions nature as a character as much as Rose or Windy.

Character development is rich and poignant. Rose struggles to understand the adults around her: her mother dealing with a secret, personal loss; her over-compensating father; Dunc and Jenny’s badly dealt with pregnancy; even Windy’s subtle, yet profound, contemplation of adoption.  The illustrations further convey the dichotomy of youth and maturity when Rose and Windy frolic through the waves of the lake  on a splash page, as Dunc sits in an state of nervous agony in the following panel. But perhaps the most lovely figurative element of the book is the duality between the mother’s story of having miscarried in the lake, only to be redeemed by having saved Jenny from drowning in the same spot, and in so doing, saved her baby’s life.

This is a book that appeals to the senses.The feel of the rough paper asks for a degree of respect that a glossy page would not garner. Sounds, more than figurative onomatopoeia, drive the story. The ground crumbles beneath the feet of a man carrying a sleeping child; embarrassment is accentuated when Rose’s uncalled for name calling follows her walk home, “slut”, “slut”, “slut” crunching beneath her feet; and the soft ticking of the clock and the woods fills the empty home as Rose leaves her cabin and youth behind her at the end. IMG_1758

This One Summer is a story about growing up, and how adulthood and age, regardless of the physical company one keeps, is a lonesome road.  This novel is a prodigious example of the beauty, intricacy and the splendour of sequential art. It is a beautiful union of words and pictures, worthy of every award for which it was nominated and has won.

This book is a quintessential example of how reading can shape our perceptions of the world, and how comics can shape and enlighten our perceptions of reading.

By Leigha Chiasson-Locke

 

 

 

 

 

Comic Women Wednesday

On my way to book club tonight I stopped by my favourite comic book store to peruse the single issues shelves. I thought I might check out the latest Spider-Gwen, ask about the release date of the new Fiona Staples’ Archie comic, maybe take a peek at the new Saga cover.

So I picked up Spider-Gwen, the most recent Thor, and to my surprise, I even bought the Jem and the Holograms #1. Then I got in the car, went to book club and largely forgot about my new issues.

And then I got home.

When I took the comics out of the bag and laid them all before me something clicked. it occurred to me that I bought three comics where the protagonists were all women. The titles were the names of women (yes, even Thor!), and the conflicts within the stories were real social and personal conflicts that had NOTHING to do with men. No love story, no damsel in distress, no all encompassing quest towards a male counterpart. Just three women dealing with the struggles of finding success, happiness, and a place in this world. Same as many of us do every day.

I love reading comics. Heck, I love reading anything, so to read from a male protagonist’s perspective has never irked me. I have always been ok with it. I have even been ok with the stories where the girl is the love interest and in need of saving. But when characters like Captain Marvel, Black Widow, Wonder Woman, Kamala Khan (the new Ms. Marvel), Sue Storm, and Jessica Jones show their female readership that they can hold a story on their own, you get used to women being in the spotlight.   A limited spotlight, granted, but there nonetheless. Sure, with the exception of Jones and Khan, they don’t typically look like the rest of us women, and therefore some find it hard to connect with the characters, but at least their stories are being told. But wait! I opened Jem and the Holograms, and to my pleasant surprise, Jerrica, Aja and Shana look normal (makeup aside). Like, short and not-fit, borderline chubby normal. Kinda like me. Holograms_band_bios

So a female protagonist maybe isn’t such a big deal, but that I bought THREE titles, and the only three titles at that, in one outing is. I always go for Batman, Cap, Wolverine, Hawkeye, or Thor (Odinson), without thinking about the social ramifications of constantly choosing male heroes. Maybe that is wrong, maybe not, but for me to unintentionally choose three female centred titles suggests that I am not buying strictly because the characters are female, I am buying because female characters are getting good stories, looking more like the rest of us, and holding a mirror up to the nature of true womanhood. These stories are worthy of anyone’s attention, gender notwithstanding.

Parents and Teachers: Superhero Responsibly

This post is an extension of a radio interview that I participated in addressing the presence of superheroes in the classroom.

superheroThe board and faculty of a private school in my hometown has, with the support of many parents, endeavoured to ban superheroes from its halls. As both a teacher and mother I cannot condone these choices. It goes without saying that as a comic book enthusiast I am deeply disappointed. To the parents and teachers willing to censure superheroes I have this to say: please, superhero responsibly.

With the advent of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) And recent DC films, superheroes are at a cultural peak. Those who do not understand the broad scope of superhero literature, its many facets and depth, choose to select this medium as a scapegoat for undesirable behaviour and disinterest in reading. Superheroes are not the problem; disrespect for the power of comics is the problem.  Arguments against superheroes in the classroom and hallways of schools range from being too violent, addressing only very basic story lines, and stamped with the label “bad” literature. There are many adults in the education system who still devalue the worth of the graphic novel as a medium for teaching literature. It is not only a question of misunderstanding superheroes, but of graphic storytelling and art as a whole. A paradigm shift needs to occur to eradicate this archaic perception.

I do not, under any circumstances, want my six year old son watching violent television, film, or reading violent books. So he doesn’t, but he watches and knows all about superheroes. As the responsible adult in our relationship, I monitor what he reads and watches to ensure its age appropriateness. The popular films from the MCU, along with the Christopher Nolan Batman films and DC’s burgeoning Justice League films are not for children. Nor are the majority of graphic novels and weekly and monthly single issues at your local comic book store. Superhero comics are largely targeted towards young adults and adult audiences. The characters are targeted to children. Books, comics and films for children do not touch on the same themes as the films you watch or hear about in popular culture. The Superhero Squad, for example, treat themes of friendship, teamwork and personal growth. Doctor Doom is always bested, sometimes with Iron Man’s blasters, but more than the fighting are the plot driven discussions about why the problem at hand exists. Often the show ends with a moral. My son can watch this show. He is not violent as a result. He uses his words, not his actions when faced with a disgruntled friend. He wants to be as good a friend as Wolverine and as strong a leader as Iron Man and Captain America are. It is ok that he doesn’t know exactly what Wolverine is best at, but when he does find out later on he will already know that Wolverine is a character that can be counted on- a leader who makes tough choices. Wolverine will become more believable as my son’s world becomes more real. My son lives in a violent world. He doesn’t need comics to teach him that. If anything, they can help him escape it.

Superheroes are only written into simple story lines in the minds of the uneducated people who don’t read comics. I would argue they are full of substance, figurative language, advanced vocabulary and rich plot detail. I have a degree in English Literature, a degree in education, and soon I will have a degree in library sciences. I know good literature when I see it, or read it; and I read A LOT.

As a teacher I would often use superhero story lines in my English and senior history classes. For example, Superman: Red Son is the story of Superman’s crash landing in Russia. In my History 12 Global Studies class, we consider the outcome of the Cold War if Superman had been raised in the Soviet Union. The purpose is to encourage students to think outside of the box. To buoy their curiosity as they consider what they take for granted as normal and look at it from another perspective. Our role as teachers is not to indoctrinate our beliefs and ideas, it is to inspire youth to acknowledge their own. If I use Superman as a vehicle to get them to think of the world from a soviet lens, then I have granted them permission to reject, momentarily, what they know for what could have been. Similarly, in an effort to make Hercules more interesting to a disinterested World History 10 student, I suggest All Star Superman, where our protagonist takes on Herculean trials as the student realizes his hero is a flawed being; god-like, but not a god.

Superheroes are flawed. Stripped bare of their powers and technology they are flawed men and women who do not conform and fit into conventional society. The X-men are spokesmodels for the marginalized. Batman is constantly seeking an outlet for dealing with the death of his parents. Captain America struggles in vain to ensure morality, ethics and values in a world saturated in corruption. Readers, every single one of us, are flawed beings. Each of us longing to belong. Why not let our young readers engage with the stories of their cultural icons and heroes who reflect the very struggles they endure?

The role of the parent, the teacher, and the educational system is to provide mentorship for our students. To enlighten a future society to appreciate and concede to the perspectives of others. Teaching them that the literature and the characters they admire and love are not appropriate, unacceptable, or rubbish is teaching them to censure what they do not understand. Censorship is fundamentally backwards in a society where we value free thinking and education.

I will continue to teach with superheroes. When my students walk into my classroom they will be greeted with a poster of Spiderman and a collection of comic figurines lining my desk. I will discuss the movies they watch, the comics they read, and in turn students will continue to ask to be in my homeroom; the space they feel safe to express who they are and where they see their interests proudly positioned on the walls around them. My son will be encouraged to learn more about the superheroes he loves, he will be praised for the comics he himself creates, and when the time comes, with his mom and dad as excited as he is, he will watch superheroes on the big screen.

Banning superheroes is an act akin to the malevolence of super villains.

Don’t be a villain. Superhero responsibly.

By Leigha Chiasson-Locke   @ldchiasson17

 

How Comics Saved My Life

Ok, so comics didn’t actually save my life.Keep-Calm-and-Read-Comics-565x800

There were no major catastrophes, no near death experiences, no apocalyptic-this-is-the-end moment of truth. Quite simply, I just felt lonely, and I desperately needed an outlet. Then one day, out of the blue, I serendipitously stumbled upon a call for participants in a new book club- Graphic Novel Book Club.

I thought to myself that it had been years since I really immersed myself in any comics. A year prior I had given a lecture to a Children’s Lit class about the profound story telling, stunning visuals, and intricacies of reading the comic genre. A year before that I revisited Riverdale because my childhood friend, Archie, found himself simultaneously engaged (albeit in different dimensions of reality) to both Betty and Veronica- obviously I needed to see how that one played out. But being immersed in comics was not part of my ordinary, everyday experience.

The first book we read was Maus, by Art Spiegleman. *Disclaimer* If you have never read Maus, and you are one of those critics who see little value in the genre of graphic novels and comics, put your prejudices aside and read it. It is a pulitzer prize winning work of art. READ IT*. As I was saying, Maus not only rekindle a love of reading the comic genre, the book club itself breathed new life into me.

Most people, if not all of us, struggle to accept who we are. No, let me rephrase that, we struggle to understand who we are. I have spent my whole life choosing paths and feigning interests because I am predisposed to be concerned with what others think of me. When I joined this book club, I was surrounded by a (small) group of people who loved what they loved and knew a hell of a lot about what they loved. And what was so amazing was that they aired their love and knowledge openly without concern for what others thought- and I was so envious. After the first meeting I realized I had more in common with these five strangers than most of the friends I had had my whole life, but I was too shy or too scared to embrace who I was.

As the months went by I read more than our reading list; I read books that looked good on the shelves, books that had stellar reviews, titles that were popular, titles that were less so, and with each one, I was enraptured-even with the ones I didn’t like- Ahem, Black Hole. Sorry again, Alex.

But the best part, aside from the hours and hours suspended in disbelief between the pages of a good book, was that I started to love something- passionately. As I got to know my new friends better I realized that I have been geeky all along. For the first time, here were a group of people willing to openly discuss the awesome cultural impact of Buffy the Vampire Slayer,the consequences of (possibly) inventing a flux capacitor, and superheroes- from their internal struggles to their morals and ethics- all things I had loved or dabbled in my whole life, but without much company. All at once I was openly geeky and above all I was completely comfortable and at ease with myself.

It has taken me a long time to realize that it is ok to love what I love. That I can be the academic person I have always been- the avid reader of Shakespeare, Conan Doyle, Tolkien, Austen and Whitman- to the eight year old, whose first crush was on Marty McFly. My youth came flooding back to me in a torrent of comic related memories, an abundance of Science Fiction and Fantasy, and it was here that I found myself. Here I am at home.

So no, comics didn’t technically save my life. Their presence brought me back to myself, pulling me out of a swelling sea of self doubt. But hey, that sounds like being saved to me.

By Leigha Chiasson-Locke @ldchiasson17

 

Fears for a Female Superhero

Before Captain Marvel was slated to join her fellow avengers in the MCU I had secret hopes that she would stay on the pages of her comics and not make the jump to the big screen. Why? Because Carol Danvers is my favourite female superhero, obviously.-b47ba705-84d3-4e68-9a40-58c4b37b6365

That seems like an odd thing to say. Before his solo film debut, I was eager to see Wolverine get his own arc. I couldn’t wait for Cap to lead his Howling Commandos on the silver screen, and well, there was just not enough patience in the world while I waited for Thor to wield his mighty hammer. But Ms. Marvel, I had my reservations. And here is why, I was worried Carol would be less super and more sexy.

It’s not easy being a female comic fan. On the one hand, I feel like I have to qualify my interests for others in the geek community. I have heard some iteration of “Whoa, are you sure you’re a girl?” more than I can count, and all because I can carry a conversation about superheroes with a predominantly male group of friends. Even at my favourite comic book store, (which I love and consider to be one of my favourite places in the world) I did not feel as welcomed, as I know my seven year old son felt, until I was able to assert my geekery to one of the male staff by throwing around artists and writers names, plot details, and, ironically, little known facts about Jem and the Holograms. On the other hand, I feel like I have to qualify my feminist ideals to myself every time I read a comic.

In the comfort of my own reading nook, I don’t care what Emma Frost wears, how Spider-Woman poses, or how ridiculously high Ms. Marvel’s boots are. I see past it, just as I look past Namor and the suspenders he wears over his bare chest, or T’Challa and the way his panther suit is practically painted over his body. Neither male nor female character are safe from sexual innuendos, and most all are presented with a degree of sex appeal. Maybe Emma Frost and Spider-Woman don’t ring true to me the way Danvers does, and in that sense I am not bothered by their attire. But I do identify with Danvers, and knowing that she was to be taken from the pages of a book and portrayed by an actual living person made me uncomfortable. Let’s face it, when a male actor buffs up and starts saving the world, he is usually well covered from head to toe, and I have yet to see one wear ridiculous footwear. How can a woman prove Carol Danvers has the same world saving tenacity in four inch heels and a body suit permanently on the verge of giving her a wedgie? How does a studio give her character credibility without overtly sexualizing her?

The answer: release a Captain Marvel movie instead. 145a5714d278c1e0b35275e6a0092b2e

Captain Marvel is the hero Ms. Marvel subconsciously longs to be (as seen in House of M), and subsequently, the mantel she inherits. With the new title remains her strength, tenacity, leadership qualities, and a kick-ass jumpsuit. Small thing to get so excited about, but now Carol Danvers looks like the soldier we know and admire. Seeing Carol Danvers grace the pages of her own series looking like the woman my younger self would have liked to be affirms that my feminist ideals are, in fact, intact. I want to see a strong woman save the earth, but more importantly I want to see a strong woman who looks (more or less) like a real woman save the earth. I want her intellect and capacity for emotion not to be clouded by skimpy suites, unattainable flowing hair, and boots that would make it awfully hard to round-house kick.

Marvel’s choice to release Captain Marvel has eased my mind and demonstrated a respect for their female fans. So far the MCU has done well promoting both strength and femininity in their female characters: Scarlett Johannson’s Black Widow is significantly less sexualized than her comic counterpart; Gwenyth Paltrow’s Pepper Potts radiates strength beyond measure, both physical and emotional; and Agent Carter and Lady Siff have proven that women have a place in the chaos and forefront of the battleground, and that even women can devastate in times of war.

In the books, Kamala Khan, the new Ms. Marvel, is exactly the kind of superhero I want my daughter to know, to imagine and pretend to be. Same goes for Gwen Stacy in her run in the new Spider-Verse (the thought that a girl could be bitten by a radio active spider is not just a figment of little girl’s imagination anymore!). Browsing the covers of comics women are everywhere, from the characters on the title page to the artists and writers bringing them to life.

The spotlight on women in comics is starting to brighten. They have been standing on the stage for sometime, but waiting for their moment to shine. Now it’s happening. It’s time to lift the curtain and watch women stand tall as comic giants, not just on the shoulders of others.

It’s time for Carol Danvers to shine on the big screen, too.

The world is ready, so am I.

By Leigha Chiasson   @ldchiasson17

 

 

High Literature – the comics addition: Fun Home

James Joyce’s seminal post-modernist masterpiece, Ulysses, has been collecting dust on my bedside table for five years. Occasionally it changes location from under the lamp to the top of the pile, but there it remains, spine un-cracked, pages pristine, metaphors and ambiguities unearthed- unread.

I can hear the guffaws of my peers in the literary community as I type this. That strange comic book reader calls herself an English graduate?! Blasphemy!

I am a fraud.

My entire degree in English literature is a lie because, not only have I not read Ulysses, I don’t really want to.

imageAt least I didn’t, until a comic book changed my mind.

I was late getting around to Alison Bechdel’s autobiographical, Fun Home. In fact, I was late getting around to autobiographical comics, in general. When I did, Fun Home didn’t pull at my inner historian’s curiosity like Maus, nor did it make me want to self-evaluate my own anxieties like Marbles. Like UlyssesFun Home was a book I knew I should read, a contemporary classic (a game-changer in the world of comics), but I was in no hurry to pick it up, and it took me years, collecting dust on the shelf below Joyce.

Now, I guffaw at myself.

 Fun Home just may be the most important comic I have ever read, but not for the connections I made with the characters. I have very little in common with Alison, the young protagonist who comes of age in a home devoid of outwardly affection, who watches her parent’s marriage deteriorate behind a velvet facade, brought up in a house that is both staged for beauty and death. Sure, I cheered for her as she reached her milestones and personal enlightenment, I joined her on her quest for identity, but the connection to the character was not what kept me up reading all night. I was connected, instead, to what sustained her.

Bechdel’s intimate relationship with English literature is enviable and, I would argue,  the crux of her book. This is where she got me. Hook, line and sinker; the way to a literature junkie’s heart (even one that hasn’t read Ulysses) is through reference and allusion. I could not relate to Alison’s plights and conflicts, but I could relate to the way she engaged with books to get her through each major event in her life. Like her, I lost myself to works such as The Importance of Being EarnestThe Taming of the ShrewAn Ideal HusbandThe Wind in the Willows, The Great Gatsby, and poetry by Wallace Stevens. Here was a protagonist, an author, pulled between her love of great literature and her desire to live in a world of comics- such is my plight!!!

I could’t put Fun Home down. In the panels of a graphic memoir I saw my own reflection- someone filled to the brim with literary passion, but someone who did not quite belong. A poet and a comic. An essayist and artist. I may not have seen myself in her story, but there I was front and centre in the medium.

Fun Home has broken barriers across genres, has incited discussion for gender identification and sexual orientation. It has shed light on the secrets between family and the darkness of both life and death. But for me, much more simply, it has validated my love of reading, most especially my love of reading comics.

As my foray with Fun Home came to an end I realized Bechdel likened herself and her father to the two main characters in James Joyce’s Ulysses. For the first time, ever, I had the urge to read Ulysses, not because it belongs in the pantheon of books I am supposed to read, but because the characters suddenly became real to me. Joyce didn’t do this. Alison Bechdel did. Not a seminal novel, a graphic one. But hey, no matter the medium that is what a good book does; it encourages a reader to read on, read more, and read unabashedly. It is time to dust off Ulysses. Fun Home, on the other hand, will never collect dust again.

By Leigha Chiasson-Locke    @ldchiasson17