graphic novel

Miss Don’t Touch Me, Vol. 2

gwen — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

My knowledge of graphic novels is limited to having only read The Watchman. When you’re reading a book you imagine what the character looks like and maybe even the environment where she lives. When you experience a graphic novel, an interconnected array of words and colors awaits you much like what a child sees when looking at a picture book. I think it’s a fabulous genre and I look forward to reading more.

Miss Don’t Touch Me, Vol. 2, takes place in Paris in the 1930s. I recommend you read Miss Don’t Touch Me, Vol. 1, first, as there is good back story to the characters in Volume 2. Miss Don’t Touch Me, Vol. 2 centers on a frightened and nervous young woman named Blanche, who is overshadowed by her sister Agatha, a fun-loving free spirit who frequently goes out dancing. They both work as maids and are barely getting by financially. Blanche experiences a tragedy when someone very close to her is shot. She takes it upon herself to find the people responsible, which leads her to the Pompadour, a house of call girls. Blanche becomes a dominatrix and is given the name “Miss Don’t Touch Me,” because she is still a virgin and her male customers are not allowed to touch her.

The other prostitutes at the Pompadour are jealous of Blanche and are constantly bullying her, but she stands up for herself. Through Blanche’s eyes we see a division between the prostitutes and the people with all the money and power—who are often the prostitutes’ customers. In Blanche, we see an advocate for her friends that are abused or mistreated. She has a complicated relationship with her mother and she falls in love with a man who is struggling with his own sexual identity. Blanche grows from a nervous woman to someone who fights the male dominance and the power hungry individuals that threaten to bring her down. She is still frightened, but she works through her fears and tries to survive in a world that is very much against her.

The Miss Don’t Touch Me series is not for everyone and if you’re easily offended by images of men getting whipped or women being tied up, this is probably not the best introductory graphic novel. But if none of the above bothers you, then you will enjoy this strange—albeit entertaining—tale filled with horror, S&M, mystery, and romance.

Written by: Su Lin Mangan, March 23rd 2011

The Story of Lee (Volume 1)

payal — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Seán Michael Wilson, Chie Kutsuwada

Nantier, Beall, and Minoustchine Publishing (ComicsLit)

The Story of Lee is a graphic novel written by Seán Michael Wilson, the editor of AX: Alternative Manga. Wilson writes mainly for a mature international manga audience, and like most other Japanese style comics, it is serialized: I had the pleasure of reading just the beginning of a larger story arc. Part of its appeal, I admit, was in its being a short and satisfying read that nonetheless offers the promise of continuation in subsequent volumes.

The engaging story, which is set in Hong Kong, advances considerably in less than 160 pages, and the story-telling accomplished through drawings rather than text is a welcome change of pace. One of my favorite “scenes” was an entire page of just moments in a movie theatre, where the deepening of the sweet and touching romance between our heroine, Lee Chan (age twenty-four), and Mathew Macdonald (twenty-seven) was illustrated with a quiet sensitivity that captured the emotions perfectly. Lee ultimately learns much about Western culture as well as her own Chinese culture, by looking at both through the eyes of Mathew, a poetry-writing English teacher from Scotland.

The heart of the story is that over-arching cultural ties between Lee and Mathew (i.e., The Clientele and other popular British music, poetry, and Hong Kong sunsets, to name a few) outweigh their cultural differences (such as Lee’s more hesitant approach to sex). In the background, we have Wang, the suitor that Lee’s father prefers for her, who tries but fails to compete for Lee’s affections. Of course, suspicion from her father and jealousy from Wang make her Chinese culture all the more unattractive to Lee.

Although it follows a somewhat predictable narrative (thus far), The Story of Lee nonetheless does a nice job of illuminating and confronting the xenophobic views of Wang, of Lee’s father Mr. Chan, and of Lee herself. As well, hints of progressive commentary on issues like sexism and women’s rights appear in the first volume, and thus more generous treatment of these issues in future volumes is likely. If The Story of Lee remains true to its form, it will continue to feature love and coming-of-age variety self-realization as its major themes, from a culturally sensitive and understated, yet decidedly feminist, point of view.

This point of view is best represented in Volume 1 by Lee’s paternal grandmother. She embodies the passing along of a “tradition” that somehow trumps the father’s rigid, xenophobic tradition. Without disrespecting her son, Lee’s grandmother expresses a very different life credo that comes across as: “Live! Love! Learn!” but also, "work toward your individual goals and love your family and where you come from." The grandmother’s wisdom redefines the father’s "work relentlessly and unhappily, and obey your family" worldview, and eventually helps inspire reconciliation between Lee and the family regarding Mathew and Lee’s future. In fact, Mr. Chan chooses to support his daughter’s decision to enroll in school at Edinburgh University, which is where the volume ends.

I surmise that The Story of Lee may be considered manga “light” by aficionados. It was printed in New York, not Japan. It reads front to back, rather than back to front. But it is set in a universe peopled with exaggerated eyes and other stylized features common to manga, and it engages with the same familiar themes. So for me, reading this graphic novel about characters in China exploring the difficulties and benefits of intercultural love and relationships, often by sharing various treasured memes with each other (in addition to music and film references, there were haikus by Matsuo and snippets from Rilke, Proust, Borges, and Tolstoy), was a very post-something, contemporary kind of pleasure. And one that I recommend trying.

Written by: Julie Ann, March 22nd 2011

The Night Bookmobile

brittany — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Audrey Niffenegger

Abrams ComicArts

I am new to the world of graphic novels and so is The Night Bookmobile’s author Audrey Niffenegger, bestselling author of The Time Traveler’s Wife. According to the author, the book was inspired by a short H.G. Wells story and a dream she had as a teenager. In just thirty-three pages, Niffenegger manages to intrigue and captivate with the story of Alexandra, a young woman who gets into a fight with her live-in boyfriend and begins wandering the neighborhood in the dead of night hoping to blow off some steam. That’s when she comes across The Night Bookmobile, a mobile library run by Mr. Openshaw.

Once inside, Alexandra soon discovers that the library is filled with everything she’s ever read, from old takeout menus and her childhood diary to her family Bible and various Jane Austen titles. When daylight breaks Mr. Openshaw rushes Alexandra off, not allowing her to check out any of the books. For weeks after this bizarre encounter, Alexandra wanders the streets in the middle of the night searching for the mysterious Mr. Openshaw and his roving library. Her boyfriend, convinced she’s having an affair, eventually leaves Alexandra and so she lives alone, spending a majority of her time reading.

Nine years later in front of Wrigley Field, Alexandra has another chance encounter with the bookmobile. Once inside she takes note of all the new titles that have been added and asks Mr. Openshaw if she can be his assistant, but he refuses and recommends that she become a “regular librarian”—and so she does.

Twelve years elapse before she sees Mr. Openshaw again and during that time she’s become a librarian leading a rather solitary life. The story ends in a rather surprising way just a few pages later, which left me feeling a bit shocked and sad that Alexandra’s story was over so soon. Thankfully, this is just the first installment of a much larger work called The Library that will be released in segments.

From its very first pages, The Night Bookmobile has a sort of lovely sadness that lingers over each frame and you find yourself—right along with Alexandra—loving the idea of the bookmobile for unidentifiable reasons and wondering what it all means. With The Night Bookmobile’s quiet intensity, Niffenegger has made me a graphic novel believer.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, October 14th 2010

A Home For Mr. Easter

admin — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Brooke A. Allen

NBM Publishing

Tesana is a teenage girl lacking love. Her mother belittles her behavior, and the kids at school make fun of her. She is huge—both very tall and very overweight. She feels like a walking target, so it’s understandable that she has learned to escape into her imagination. When the bus ride home sucks, she dreams up a unicorn to carry her across the city. But daydreams can’t make everything better. When the popular jocks and cheerleaders try to make a victim of a bunny rabbit, Tesana unleashes all her pent-up anger on them.

This is no ordinary bunny. He lays Easter eggs! He talks! Everyone thinks Tesana is crazy, but she knows the truth. She resolves to help Mr. Easter get back home. In order to do this, they have to retrace the route that brought him to the high school: a pet shop, a science lab, and a magician’s show. At every stop there’s someone who wants that bunny back, and soon there’s a small army chasing Tesana and Mr. Easter.

A Home for Mr. Easter is defined by its chaos. Tesana feels attacked on all sides, and then she actually is. The plot follows the logic of a dreamer, so magical things are suddenly allowed. The laws of the real world are stretched and twisted.

Though this graphic novel style isn’t really my favorite—it delights in the misshapen—I appreciate what Allen has succeeded in doing. What I don’t enjoy may make the book all the richer for some readers. Tesana’s world is ugly; she deals with ugly people.

Along the way, Tesana slowly excises some of her demons. By the time they find Mr. Easter’s true home, she is less angry and has had some of her deepest beliefs validated. Through the bedlam, she and her mother become allies, instead of enemies. The fairy tale ends happily.

And yet, A Home for Mr. Easter contains a great deal of insight, slipped into the subtext. Brooke Allen gives just enough clues for us to get a rich impression of what Tesana’s inner and physical lives are like. The characters are expressive, leaving no doubt about how something is being said or the emotion it’s being said with.

I did enjoy the story, and its fantastic nature. The range of emotion is powerful, taking one through disbelief, righteous anger, fear, and pathos. Allen is clearly talented and confident in her craft.

Written by: Richenda Gould, August 30th 2010

Forget Sorrow: An Ancestral Tale

admin — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Belle Yang

W.W. Norton

I jumped at the chance to review Forget Sorrow: An Ancestral Tale, an unconventional graphic memoir from writer/artist Belle Yang. While I am no expert on graphic literature, I did devour Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis series. With this medium, I enjoy (and envy) the way an artist can show emotions through inked illustrations, and use words more sparingly. Further, there is an intimacy created on the page, because the typeface and conversational style evoke a personal journal lying on a nightstand.

Yang is a Chinese-American woman, and her story, in part, tells of the identity struggles she experiences in separating from the Chinese traditions of her immigrant parents. When she travels to Beijing for art school, Yang has a chance to learn cultural history while not being bound to it.

At the outset of her tale, we see the source of Yang’s title: her Chinese name, Xuan, means “Forget Sorrow.” When Yang was thirty years old, she sought shelter from a violent boyfriend by moving back to her parents’ home. While there, she began to give shape to her father’s childhood stories in Japanese-occupied Manchuria, World War II, and Mao’s Great Leap Forward. Yang writes, “I have a voice in America. I won’t waste it.”

The art in Forget Sorrow is tender, powerful, and moving. One ink illustration that stands out is Yang’s nightmare about her abuser, which captures a feeling of stark terror. In contrast, Yang’s illustrations also evoke tenderness between father and daughter, a feeling of comfort for him as he shares painful memories.

Yang’s story demonstrates ways in which strength comes from relationships. Her father’s tales are painful at times. Under communism, family relationships were made subordinate to party affiliation. Important aspects of tradition, such as honoring elders, did not apply if those elders were deemed to be landlords or capitalists. The political side of Yang’s family story makes it very clear that social change should not come at the cost of human life or dignity.

Through telling her family’s story as well as exercising her voice and her artistic vision in Forget Sorrow, Yang found new freedom. As a writer, artist, and woman, she shapes her own future.

Written by: Lisa Rand, August 23rd 2010

Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics

admin — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Hillary L. Chute

Columbia University Press

My taste in female-authored comics is pretty obvious—Colleen Doran (A Distant Soil), Wendy Pini (Elfquest), Donna Barr (Stinz, Desert Peach—and I am also a fan of women embedded in the production line comics (such as artist Lily Renee Phillips). But I have never been much drawn to the rather sordid memoirs of the overtly feminist artists covered in the book I am reviewing today (Aline Kominsky-Crumb, Phoebe Gloeckner, Lynda Barry, Marjane Satrapi, Alison Bechdel).

My first impression of Graphic Women was not overwhelmingly positive; it is written in the convoluted, polysyllabic jargon that is the academic version of purple prose. And it did not help that, to my eye, author Hillary L. Chute simplifies some things that are complicated and complicates some things that are simple. For example, she frequently attributes the different levels of critical such of husband (Crumb) and wife (Kominsky-Crumb) to sexism. While there is no doubt that sexism plays a role, it is a complex one in which commercial appropriateness and the development of associated skills are involved—not just the crass biases of critics. Meanwhile the blocking of Gloeckner's work from spaces like public libraries has less to do with its complex and uncomfortable themes than the depiction of erect penises which has always been a problem whether the context is high art or Playgirl magazine.

There is good and proportional use of excepts from the works being discussed, embroidering upon their composition, meaning and context. It seems to me that Chute varies in how much she illuminates the various author-artists. For example, she is revealing in discussing Kominsky-Crumb, and settles into a more plainspoken, and almost journalistic, tone in the chapter on Marjane Satrapi. I think the best balance is struck in the final chapter on Alison Bechdel, where the complexity of Chute's language and of the subject are best married together.

But there seems to be a very persistent self-involved strain, such as when Alison Bechdel asserts that cartooning is "inherently autobiographical"—when the format as a whole clearly leans more towards the fantastical. Overall, it seems to me that the non-literary graphic novel and comic communities aware of, and while not embracing, certainly respect the literary and memoir aspects of the format. However, it seems that the reverse is not true. The bold fantasies mainstream of comics is almost completely absent from considerations of the context for the author-artists in this volume and their intricate and neurotic disclosures.

Overall, after reading Graphic Women, I did find the work of these female comic artists rather more appealing when "taken from behind" in terms of motivation, biography, and wider social context than when I had taken them at face value. I was convinced, for example, for the first time that Kominsky-Crumb's naive style is a fully deliberate choice—albeit, one I still find off-putting. And I did use my limited funds to buy a copy of Kominsky-Crumb's graphic memoir and of Persepolis.

On the whole I would say Graphic Women is dense, informative, and useful in understanding a rather isolated but important strand of graphic novel development, but this book embodies rather than explains its peculiar and irritating pretensions.

Cross-posted at The Cliterature

Written by: Emily Veinglory, August 13th 2010

Graylight

admin — Sat, 22 May 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Naomi Nowak

NBM/Comicslit

The field of comics, also sometimes known as graphic novels, is dominated by male creators and readers. However, there's been increasing push in the last few decades by women to enter the field and make their mark. Though comics drawn by women are gaining popularity, most are classified as "indie," distributed by small publishers that may not be able to advertise or place volumes in prominent bookstores. Naomi Nowak's most recent graphic novel, Graylight, is designated indie, though it deserves to be appreciated by a wider audience.

Sasha is a German photographer on assignment somewhere in northern Europe, where the sun stays up all night in summer. She is a mysterious person, a foreigner. She attracts the attention of a journalist, and he invites her to join him on his quest to interview a famous recluse. The woman takes a disliking to both of them and refuses to grant him an interview. But Sasha leaves with her own prize—a book stolen from the house.

The woman's son follows her home to demand its return, and attraction sparks. But the reclusive old woman is no ordinary woman. She is a witch, with a grudge against women like Sasha, who play with men. When the witch's son takes an interest in Sasha, his mother takes action to destroy her. The witch's son is not Prince Charming, but he does save Sasha, changing his relationship with his mother. He asserts his independence, but in the end Sasha, true to form, leaves town to find some other hearts to break.

The plot summary is intriguing, yet its execution is not entirely clear. I found myself re-reading several times, trying to spot clues I may have missed. Plot is not Nowak's primary concern here—impressions of character and mood supersede coherency of plot.

Nowak is an artist who studied painting and illustration. She brings those skills to her comics, creating page after page of exquisite visuals. The colors are watercolor shades, ranging from pastel to flamingo and lime. The inking is both intricate and vague; symbolic or decorative flowers and crystals are detailed while faces and unimportant objects are only partially defined. Every knot in a sweater is drawn to give its precise texture but the shoes disappear into the background. Nowak focuses attention on what she wants the reader to notice. Pages where there's almost too much detail are deliberately overwhelming.

The style reminds me of the Japanese manga Paradise Kiss. Graylight is exquisitely rendered, and worth looking through for the art alone. Nowak's website contains examples from the book, a more compelling argument to pick it up than I could ever make.

Comics and graphic novels are not as easy to create and produce as some may think. Nowak has made something beautiful, if imperfect in its storytelling. I look forward to seeing her skills progress.

Written by: Richenda Gould, May 21st 2010

You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive

admin — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Seth Tobocman

AK Press

You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive is a collection of graphic work by comic artist and activist Seth Tobocman. The artwork dates back to 1980, when Tobocman and Peter Kuper founded the political comix magazine War World 3 Illustrated, and critical issues of this era are addressed, including Reaganomics, the AIDS pandemic, gentrification struggles in New York City, the occupation of Palestine, and the imprisonment of Mumia Abu-Jamal.

You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive was originally published in 1989 and then again ten years later. Both times it sold out quickly. This most recent acquisition and printing from AK Press is a sign of Tobocman’s work's longevity, and the continued demand for his politically conscious art.

Tobocman is a fixture of New York City’s downtown punk scene and the Lower East Side squatter’s movement. Chances are local readers have seen him in his Lower East Side neighborhood, maybe reading at Bluestockings or ABC No Rio. Tobocman, like his comics, is accessible, present, and engaged in his community. His comics have never been recognized or celebrated by the mainstream art market, which is not surprising considering his critique of bourgeois conformist politics, and Tobocman produces art for the street, not the gallery.

This latest release of You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive gives longtime fans, as well as first-time readers, a chance to enjoy Tobocman’s art and utilize his images (as activists and community organizers often have) to produce political posters, buttons, patches, and graffiti. The direct and utilitarian nature of Tobocman’s work, and of comic art in general, is so appealing because you get an immediate, straightforward, and high impact method of communication and direct action marketing. You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive is a creative, in-your-face resource and a critical tool for resistance.

Written by: Jeanne Vaccaro, April 14th 2010

Nancy: Volume 2

admin — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By John Stanley

Drawn and Quarterly

Drawn and Quarterly’s second compilation of the John Stanley-penned Nancy comics are simply enjoyable, and deliver what the Dell Comics stamps promise: “clean and wholesome entertainment.” More exceptional, however, than the Little Rascal-esque hijinks is Stanley’s clever writing and humorous narrative. This talent has earned him a place in classic comics history.

Throughout a prolific career, Stanley most notably wrote for Marjorie Henderson Buell’s strip Little Lulu, but also authored Thirteen Going on Eighteen, and Melvin Monster, among others. After a formidable career as an author of humorous comics, as well as a brief foray into horror comics, Stanley left the industry in the late ’60s. His Nancy storylines reflect Stanley’s oeuvre of work, as well as comics and popular culture mid-century.

Cartoonist Ernie Bushmiller created Nancy in 1938, based on the niece in Fritzi Ritz, a daily flapper strip featuring pinup-worthy Aunt Fritzi. The spin-off strip focuses on the (mis)adventures of heady young Nancy. In the ’40s, Dell Comics began publishing the strips in comic book issues. While there have been a variety of writers working on Nancy, Stanley’s humor and wit deserve recognition.

Nancy: Volume 2 is part of D&Q’s John Stanley Library. With an Art Deco-style cover designed by cartoonist and illustrator Seth (Palooka-ville), this hardcover edition is an eye-catching work. This collection contains issues 146-150, printed from 1957-58. The thick matte pages are yellowed like the pulp comics of yore, but I missed the musty, inky smell of newsprint.

Nancy is anything but theoretical, and certainly wholesome. In many ways, Nancy is an archetype. She can be seen in the facial expressions of Bill Watterson’s Calvin, the independent world of Charles Schulz’ Lucy, and the harebrained adventures of Ruthie in One Big Happy. A headstrong young girl with 1950s America orbiting around her, perhaps young Nancy is one of the earliest feminists in comics.

The book shows a fascinating world of children with few adults. Aunt Fritzi is a single woman with an occasional boyfriend, who looks after brillo-headed Nancy. Nancy’s biggest admirer is Sluggo, a young boy who never goes to school, lives alone in a dilapidated house, and is constantly tormented by Spike, the local shaved-head bully.

One of the most interesting characters is Stanley-created Oona Goosebumps, a precursor to Comic Debris’ Emily the Strange and Addams Family’s Wednesday. If anything in Nancy verges on spooky or dark, it’s Oona with her haunted house and bewitching presence. Rounding out the cast is Rollo, a ridiculously rich boy similar to Harvey Comics’ Richie Rich. With a full range of economic and social classes, Nancy looks to the practical middle class for balance. Stanley’s stories rely on the eventual return home, to a hot meal and glass of milk, and perhaps a stern scolding.

In 2009, Dark Horse Books released a complete run of Little Lulu comics, but the convenient paperback editions don’t have the aesthetic appeal of D&Q’s Nancy. I would have loved an introductory essay to provide historical context; however, if you’re looking for the pure experience of reading old comics, then this comes closer to that without the analytical rhetoric.

Written by: Claire Burrows, April 9th 2010

The Impostor’s Daughter: A True Memoir

admin — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

By Laurie Sandell

Little Brown and Company

The disenchantment of our parents, when we realize they’re humans too, is an unpleasant event of growing up. We all handle it differently. For Laurie Sandell, she put it into a graphic novel, The Impostor’s Daughter: A True Memoir. In a little less than 250 beautifully painted pages, Sandell shamelessly shows each and every skeleton in her closet—starting from childhood and ending as her young adult self—and the battles she fights to expose the lies about her larger-than-life father and form a new identity in that truth.

Growing up on the east coast, Sandell was the eldest of three daughters, and her father’s favorite. She spent her childhood idolizing him and forming her identity in his stories of historical and academic greatness. He had a Ph.D. from Columbia University, earned a Purple Heart and Bronze Star in Vietnam, and corresponded with a not-yet-christened Pope John Paul II. Doubt enters Laurie’s mind when she discovers in college that her father had taken out many credit cards in her name, unbeknownst to her. With over two hundred thousand dollars in debt and a father who couldn’t give a proper explanation, Laurie hits the road. She traveled for four years, a time when she says: “I was willing to be anything, try anything, as long as it didn’t resemble the life I was living before.”

The heaviest ball drops when Sandell returns from her escape. After an evening of sharing anecdotes with a friend in publishing, Sandell agrees to write an article about her father’s adventures. Routine fact checking revealed that her father wasn’t as extraordinary as he claimed to be. She proceeds with the article against her family’s wishes, exposes the lies he told, and becomes estranged from her father. However, Laurie doesn’t get the satisfaction she expected: “Nothing had changed: my family continued to be insistently blind to the truth. I remained the lone voice of protest.”

Things begin to look up for her when she lands an admirable job interviewing celebrities. However, she continues to be haunted by her father’s deceit. She battles with an addiction to sleeping pills mixed with red wine and drastic weight loss. She explains to the rehabilitation center she eventually enters: “My alcohol use? Not much—two or three glasses a day. Of course I drink alone: I’m single.” Without fear or lack of comic relief, she shows the inside of rehab, confrontations with her parents and the ultimate serenity she finds within herself. After more than ten years of searching for peace in her relationship with her father, Laurie simply says: “I gave up.”

The strength of this book is the way in which Sandell presents her story. In a more classic format, the experience of The Impostor’s Daughter would be lost. The ability to evoke emotions (light and heavy) subconsciously through images makes this book unforgettable. She possesses a humble and often comic tone in her writing. Both voices work harmoniously to neutralize the series of traumatic events in her life. The Impostor’s Daughter is a cathartic work that will make you reflect on your own relationship with your parents. It shows us the painful, scary, and frustrating process of going from gullible and impressionable children of our parents to self-defining confident women—something we can all appreciate and laugh about sooner or later.

Written by: Sara Custer, December 6th 2009

Risk

admin — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 23:17:00 +0000

By Elana Dykewomon

Bywater Books

Author Elana Dykewomon has been acclaimed for writing about lesbian lives and realities largely unacknowledged by the mainstream. Her last novel, the Lambda Award-winning Beyond the Pale, vividly portrayed New York’s turn-of-the-century East Side and the challenges facing women loving women at a time and in an environment rife with injustice, anti-Semitism, racism, and tragedies large and small.

In her latest novel, Risk, Dykewomon chooses a different setting altogether in which to explore the lives of lesbians and their struggles to create community and relationships against the backdrop of a wider culture that is homophobic, sexist, and filled with so many other institutionalized inequities. In this book, her characters make their homes the city of Oakland, California and their story unfolds over the course of the 1980s, 1990s, and into the early years of the twenty-first century. While lacking the epic sweep and historical drama of Beyond the Pale, Risk captures the flavor of a particular place and time, giving us the everyday concerns of her characters with an authorial consciousness of the larger canvas on which their lives are being painted.

The book’s main character, Carol Schwartz, is the daughter of a man killed in Vietnam, and his death, when she was still a child, has left a profound mark upon her life. Carol’s mother, on the other hand, remained a solid and influential presence for Carol into her adulthood. Swept up in the feminist movement of the late sixties and early seventies after her husband’s death, Carol’s mother shares many of her daughter’s values. Nevertheless, their different generational experiences create a distance between the two.

When we first encounter Carol—a self-identified femme—she is five years out of UC-Berkeley, underemployed, and single. Within short order, however, her circumstances change when she meets Z.D., the intriguing butch after whom Carol lusts from the moment she sees her. Making her desire for Z.D. clear from the very start is one of the many risks we see Carol take over the course of the book. This risk, unlike some of those others, pays off. Soon, the two are an item.

The rest of the book follows Carol and Z.D., each of them taking risks in the world and with one another. Z.D. engages in some not-so-legal money-making activities. Carol, who has always liked the excitement of gambling, finds herself increasingly challenged after she unexpectedly comes into a large amount of money following a painful loss. The novel follows the characters (and their wide circle of friends) as they navigate challenges that are not necessarily unusual, but nevertheless can strain relationships and personalities to breaking.

Evoking a place and a time just as vividly as Dykewomon’s previous offerings, Risk offers a narrative filled with flawed and extremely human characters trying to create connection on an intimate and a larger level. Everyone is trying to do the right thing, but sometimes intention is not quite enough.

Written by: Elaine Beale, October 24th 2009

Miss Don't Touch Me

admin — Sun, 12 Jul 2009 23:08:00 +0000

By Hubert & Kerascoet

NBM Publishing

Miss Don't Touch Me is the story of a girl, Blanche, who works with her sister, Agatha, as a live-in maid in Paris at the turn of the twentieth century. When Blanche witnesses her sister’s murder, her world is destroyed. People think Agatha committed suicide, and nobody will believe Blanche. She goes on a mission to avenge Agatha’s death, which takes her into a realm of prostitution, murder, and deceit.

It is both hard to believe and a relief that Agatha can manage to work at a brothel and not even have to take off her clothes. She is a virgin and does not want to “sell [her] virtue” (emphasis mine). So she presents her conundrum of sorts to the madam boss, who offers her the ideal position: a “virgin of steel” dominatrix who “whips, but [is] not to be touched.”

This setup, however, reinforces the virgin/whore duality in the novel. Blanche’s virginity is the main characteristic that differentiates her from every other woman from this point forward, something that even induces hatred toward her from some of the “whores.” One of them even cuts off Blanche’s long dark hair in her sleep, thickening the line that separates them. Blanche only gets along with the two other “special girls” in the brothel: Annette, who looks stereotypically angelical but harbors a dark secret, and the “madame/monsieur” Miss Josephine, her gender-bending confidante and the only other prostitute in the brothel with short hair. The authors have made it clear that Blanche does not belong on the “whore” side of the dichotomy through her asexuality, her appearance, and her very name (“blanche” means “white” in French).

Does this graphic novel stretch the virgin/whore dichotomy to create a new space? What’s for sure is that Blanche is gutsy, clever, cunning, and even cruel. She’s good-looking enough to be a prostitute but has chosen another route. She’s also goal-driven and steadfast. But, her character is not very believable. Not only is her character an amalgam of her aforementioned traits; there are also problems in the narrative that affect her credibility as a character.

The novel reads quickly, and it is enjoyable. But something feels amiss throughout. The authors at times skip from one crucial scene to the next. For example, when Blanche's sister Agatha is murdered, Blanche's life suddenly changes drastically. Blanche, naturally, cries over her dead sister following her murder—and then never does it again. We aren't even told why this is; is Blanche the kind to bury her feelings? She does not seem to be that at all. What’s more, she’s impulsive precisely because she can’t seem to control them. So what gives? These missing feelings and thoughts—which are ostensibly the very engine behind the plot—make Blanche seem at times incongruous and even robotic. Something important is lacking. While she does think about Agatha and does all she can to avenge her death, Blanche lacks the corresponding depth. And while no other characters display notable depth either, one would think that at least the main protagonist of the novel would. Alas, this is not the case. When she sheds blood, she doesn’t even blink.

The illustrations are sketchy but defined; each character is visually unequivocal from the next. Nudity is ubiquitous, as is to be expected, as well as uninhibited, which shows in the casual lines traced by Kerascoet. There is much play between light and shadow, and although sometimes there are so many details in one panel that you must squint to find what you’re looking for, overall the drawings are sharp and witty.

In the end, this novel is a sassy and even controversial murder mystery that will entertain. It would be even more pleasing if it finished what it started.

Written by: Natalia Real, July 12th 2009

The Séance

admin — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 10:04:00 +0000

By John Harwood

Houghton Mifflin

John Harwood’s The Séance combines all the great elements of a classic Victorian ghost story: Dilapidated mansions, noises in the walls, flickers of candlelight in a darkened window, and a fog rolling in across a menacing landscape—all the workings for a good scary read.

The Séance is told from the perspectives of three different characters. We are introduced to Constance Langton, a young woman who is desperately trying to find out more about her identity and where she comes from. She dabbles in séances to help her adoptive mother communicate with her younger sister who has passed away. Constance is unsuccessful in these endeavors and has to struggle with the guilt and sadness of an unfortunate tragedy shortly thereafter.

Constance soon meets an interesting stranger, John Montague, who informs her that she has inherited the Wraxford estate through a blood relative she has never heard of or met. The Séance leaves the story of Constance at this point and delves into the past with the strange history of the Wraxford Family that is filled with mysterious deaths and disappearances. Wraxford Hall lies right at the center of Monks’ Wood, a dark, gloomy place that is inhabited by the ghost of a monk, or so the locals believe.

Nell Wraxford, the other main character of the story, is cursed with visions of seeing the ghosts of people before they pass on. The reader is never exactly sure if what she is experiencing or seeing is real or imaginary. Nell marries Magnus Wraxford and there is always a sense of foreboding whenever he enters the story.

There is a connection between Nell and Constance but what that connection is, or how deep it goes, is not revealed until the very end. The stories of both women intertwine because they are similar in many ways; Nell and Constance both want happiness in life but are never able to find that fulfillment.

A storyline that runs throughout The Séance deals with lightning, a suit of armor and the disappearances that keep occurring on the Wraxford Estate. I never quite believed the explanation or really understood it, but I have to admit that it was an interesting theory.

The Whitecastle murders (Jack the Ripper) are occurring during the same time that the story of Magnus and Nell Wraxford unfolds, thus creating a more ominous feeling for the reader. The author only mentions the murders a few times, but it is enough to give the reader goose bumps. The reader never finds out exactly what is happening and whether the Wraxford mansion is inhabited by the ghost of old Cornelius Wraxford, or the monk in the woods, or if it is Magnus Wraxford trying to drive Nell into madness.

The Séance is a good book for one to read curled up in front of the fireplace on a winter’s night.

Written by: Su Lin Mangan, April 30th 2009

My Brain Hurts: Volume One

admin — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 03:11:00 +0000

By Liz Baillie

Microcosm Publishing

Liz Baillie’s character Kate Callahan is everything that I wish I had been in school, as well as everything that I’m glad I wasn’t: a punk dyke; Mohawk-wearing, patches held on with safety pins-styling, multiple girlfriends-loving activist; and all-around New York City street-roamer. Think Diane DiMassa’s _Hothead Paisan _before she turned homicidal and got a cat. You could say that Kate’s a homicidal lesbian terrorist in the making—and in a good way, too.

While these character traits can be admirable in young queer activists, Kate is, at times, a little too rebellious for her own good, as she constantly teeters on the edge of getting kicked out of school. I’m inspired by Kate’s spirit, but I’m also aware of the grown-up in me telling me not to mess up my life. These are the complex reasons why I’m in love with My Brain Hurts.

Baillie’s drawings of Kate and her high school life are descriptive, ratty, fun, and what make up the intensity of story. A graphic novel compilation of the first five zines in Baillie’s series of the same name is both a harsh reminder of how difficult high school can be for queer youth, but the stories can also be a best friend for someone currently going through that struggle.

Aside from the rich drawings and Kate’s engaging personality, Baillie’s cast of characters is also amazing: Kate’s way-gay best friend Joey is fabulously flamboyant in a true but not mocking way, Desi is the Latina activist who can sway a crowd better than Barack Obama, and Verona is the older woman (yeah, she’s sixteen, and that’s old in this thirteen-year-old crowd) who digs polyamory. Through chugging 40’s and adventurous games of spin-the-bottle, Kate finds her sexuality in a tangle of identity confusion. Underlying this youthful narrative is a political beat that keeps a steady rhythm on each enjoyable page. My Brain Hurts is a great series for queer youth and older queer activists to relish together.

Written by: Chelsey Clammer, April 18th 2008