Back to the Beginning: The Arrival by Shaun Tan

            Brace yourselves; Winter Break is coming – and consequently, the end of the semester.  We’ve ventured through some unexpected and unexplored territory this semester, been mildly scarred by Comix and enriched by the experiences of Craig Thompson and Art Spiegelman, and even discovered a few more works just waiting to be read during the hiatus.  However, I’d like to have a look at the graphic novel that kicked off the semester: The Arrival by Shaun Tan.  Despite being a wordless graphic novel, it is one not easily sped through, nor should it be; the care that Tan took rendering out this fantastic little world, alongside all the little background nuances make The Arrival a treat for all ages.  I feel like I neglected it in the beginning of the semester (and accidentally tainted the initial tone of the entry), so I wish to remedy that since I love Shaun Tan's work.

            One of the first things I noticed about The Arrival was the pacing.  Tan opted to take his time while fleshing out the world and the situation the protagonist found himself in, and it feels all the more real because of such care.  An early example can be seen in his paneling, specifically his use of tiny, completely square panels in a grid on one page; this type of paneling is use repeatedly to depict the passage of time throughout the graphic novel.  The first instance we see this utilized just captures little moments, and little everyday mundane things as the protagonist packs, which adds to the poignancy of the scene as we realize he’s leaving his family behind for a new place.  In the second chapter, it’s used as a double-page spread (also mirroring the boxed faces of numerous immigrants seen before the start of the story), with different types of clouds in different states of discoloration filling in the time between the beginning of the protagonist’s journey on the ship to when he finally reaches his destination.  It’s interesting to note that each time this device is used, the moments in between each panel seem to get longer, as this element is also used later to indicate possibly a year passing through the death and blooming of a flower.

            Something I somehow hadn’t fully understood before during my first read-through was the backstories of each of the characters the protagonist encountered.  I never realized that each character was essentially running away/escaping from something: for the protagonist, possibly escaping some looming terror or form of oppression (as I mentioned before, the imagery presented heavily reminded me of WWII); the oriental-looking woman fled her home country after essentially becoming a human cog in an industrial machine as a child (which is interesting, as some characters willingly do so in order to make ends meet in their new country); the grocer and his son may have been escaping religious persecution (due to the church-looking structures in one panel, as well as the use of the medallion being reminiscent of early Christians using the fish or cross to practice in secret); and the old man is essentially running away from his past and the family that is no longer there, due to his hometown being destroyed in a war he fought in.  Realizing this, it made the ending all the more poignant, with everything being cyclical (why people were fleeing to a new country, the process of assimilating, helping new arrivals who underwent similar journeys, etc.)

            I mentioned previously how the strength of the gestures and characters’ expressions help carry narrative, and I strongly believe that still holds true.  Even little, in-between gestures help in telling the story by forcing the reader’s eye to slow down, and take the moment in, and it seems like Tan carefully ensured that each panel had some sort of significance to the story, whether it was actually helping to move the plot forward, or better pace out events.

            Shaun Tan is among my favorite contemporary illustrators, and while it’s too early to say it’s his opus magnum, I believe this may possibly be his best work yet.  The amount of care and level of detail and research put into this short graphic novel is clearly evidenced from within the first few pages, and I’d love to see more work of this nature hit the shelves (whether it was from him or not matters less than the content).  Seeing as another one of his stories has been turned into a short, I can definitely see something like this being given the same treatment later as well.  Given what he’s been able to create as a relatively younger illustrator, it’ll be interesting to see what else he produces in the future.

I don't want to repeat what I've already said in the last paragraph of my previous entry, but I will at least talk about how it was presented throughout the comic.  Given the environment and dress of the characters, I still feel the black spikes were supposed to represent the Nazi presence during WWII, and feel this may further support my opinion.

Top: The ominous presence lurking over the protagonist's home country.  Middle: looking closely at the water, you can see the same black spikes jutting out of the water, possibly indicating how such a presence can never be fully shook.  Bottom: if the dark visuals weren't enough, the protagonist's reaction to what he first thinks to be the presence confirms that whatever was back in his home country is a malevolent thing that has left a great and terrible impression on those affected by it.

Hanna is Not a Boy's Name by Tessa Stone

Freshman year I was introduced to Hanna is Not aBoy’s Name; the quirky characters, supernatural setting, and unique use of shaped panels and typography made it incredibly appealing, and it quickly garnered a fandom among my friends during our first year.  Tessa Stone’s art was surprisingly quick to evolve during her time working on Hanna, and you can see her getting a better feel for her characters as we get into chapter two (for instance, the facial structure of each character becomes less boxy and more individually refined, and her line work becomes less chunky).  Reading HiNaBN is like looking at the gorgeous lovechild between graphic design and illustration, and makes it all the more compelling with the way it’s been intertwined with the story.

Which leads to another thing I love about HiNaBN: the characters.  Each character feels fully fleshed out - even those with barely any page time have a feeling of some sort of history behind them, and despite the large cast, no one character feels overshadowed by the other (nor does the character roster feel stuffed).

Unfortunately it’s been almost two years since the comic last updated, but I still have hopes that one day Tessa will come back and pick up the series again (or at least answer the unresolved questions put forth in the comic and through her extraillustrations of the characters).  Maybe.  Not likely, especially since it sounds like she’s picked up some work at Oni Press, but a fan can hope.

We get to one of the characters I'm most interested and it stopped.  Well, guess that's how things role sometimes.

                                           

Johnny Wander by Ananth Panagariya and Yuko Ota

            JohnnyWander, a not-quite slice of life comic combined with the occasional short story arc, is among the many webcomics on my weekly reading list, and among my favorites to boot.  I came across it through Applegeeks, another webcomic Ananth Panagariya collaborated on (and which sadly seems to be on permanent hiatus as of 2010) – in both cases, Ananth has typically acted as the writer, with Yuko Ota doing all of the artwork. 

            Although I’ve been following Johnny Wander since it’s conception, it’s been among the most consistent (visually and in terms of updating schedule) and accessible webcomics I’ve seen in a long while, which is definitely nice when dealing with newer readers (or on the occasion where it’s been tough to check for the bi-weekly updates).  There’s no real particular plot to follow (unless you happen across the occasional several-page short story), and the nature of the comic as a whole is more like a diary than anything else.  “Wander” is very apropos for the comic, given the content, as the reader essentially wanders in and out of the lives of Yuko, Ananth, and their friends.

I also adore Yuko’s work, which another reason why I love the comic: she has that great ability to simplify things just enough and not lose any detail, and although it doesn’t show due to the monochromatic nature of the comic, has a great sense of color which makes her work all the more enjoyable (not to mention her sense of design).  I swear one of these days I’m going to get my hands on a Maw patch or a CMYcat shirt.

Yuko and I share similar sentiments about the impending end of college.

Rice Boy by Evan Dahm

            Rice Boy was my introduction to the idea of webcomics being episodic: that they could weave intricate little stories into a larger whole, instead of just being day-by-day or week-to-week gags like one would find in the Sunday paper.  Probably one of the most surreal graphic works I’ve ever encountered (aside from works like Bone, who’s influence is easily evidenced), Rice Boy has also proven to be one of the most interesting as Evan continues exploring the world of Overside in his other works.  However, among the collection of stories from Overside thus far, Rice Boy is still my favorite, from the memorable characters to the careful pacing from panel to panel.

            Rice Boy is not for the impatient reader wanting to speed through a story, and that’s among the many things that makes it so good: you learn what you need to learn as necessary, and a good chunk of the rest of the comic consists of fantastic world and character building, which is especially interesting when it comes to long-lived characters like T-O-E and Golgo/Angel Eye.  The character development of the titular Rice Boy and T-O-E in particular have a number of curious, intentional parallels that line up in a fascinating way towards the end of the story for a nice twist.

            Due to the length of time it took to make Rice Boy, watching the evolutionary process of Evan’s ink work and paneling is also interesting (especially when laid down next to Order of Tales, the prequel-of-sorts Evan worked on following Rice Boy’s completion).  Although it’s slightly heavy-handed at times towards the beginning, the level of growth seen between the first page and the last is pleasantly surprising, and has actually made Evan one of my favorite ink artists because of it.  Rice Boy is a comic that needs more attention and appreciation (for the story, its art, and the depth of the world(s) it takes place in), and I hope one day it receives the recognition it deserves.  The library recently added the softcover edition to the collection, so I’m hoping curious students and patrons will pick it up and come to love Rice Boy as much as I have.

People should take Huff's advice and follow him over to read Rice Boy.

Johnny the Homicidal Maniac by Jhonen Vasquez

            I’ll be blunt, Jhonen Vasquez’s work terrified me as a child, and one of the primary reasons why I first read Johnny the Homicidal Maniac when I was younger was because one of my favorite online authors had written some interesting stories based on the comic (and yes, I’m going to regress back to my 13-year-old self for a moment and link to one of said stories).  Over the years I’ve taken it back out and read it a few times here and there: my opinions about it kept changing, up until the last few times I’ve revisited it.  These days it’s not among my favorite comics, but its definitely one I pull out and relish when in a sour mood (misery loves company, after all).  I think the foreword by Rob Schrab (in the Director’s Cut) best summarizes why JtHM is loved so much, and it's cathartic nature has actually made it fairly pleasant to revisit.

For my generation, JtHM seems almost like…not a rite of passage, but certainly a part of becoming a teenager (and if not JtHM, then at least another one of Vasquez’s works): it seems to be that real first “dark and edgy” comic (or even piece of literature) you’re introduced to growing up, made all the more enticing through its parental shock factor in name alone.  Looking at it now, it seems like the next evolution of the underground Comix of the 1960s/70s: after the huge “dark anti-hero” stint most mainstream comics went through during the 80s, it doesn’t seem as severe, but the content itself is certainly inappropriate as far as the CCA standards (and even most parent standards) go.  Still, I find it hard to determine what age group it would be apropos to introduce JtHM to due to its wider audience range (hell, I first read it when I was 13 and wasn’t sure what to think of it then) – in the end, it seems more dependent on what your personal tastes are when it comes to levels of gore.

Any way, JtHM is a simultaneously noxious and cathartic read, loading up the reader with the filth and putrefaction that plagues Johnny and the world around him, all the while allowing the reader to expend it all and then some through Johnny’s insane rampaging throughout the comic.  I guess Johnny’s position as a “flusher” is apropos, both in a meta sense and in-universe.  Speaking of which, the appearance of a character similar to Johnny, Jimmy, was a great way for Vasquez to either poke fun at himself or the typical reader of JtHM (especially those who didn’t quite understand the reasoning behind Johnny’s character, and were more in it for the gore).  It initially made me uncomfortable, but in retrospect it was an interesting way to draw comparisons and fully frame Johnny’s moral code and boundaries, despite his typical insanity.

For people first being introduced to Jhonen Vasquez’s work, JtHM is the great divider between those who will either love or hate his work and the type of humor presented throughout.  Much like Transmetropolitan, it was initially a tough read, but it turns out to be one of the few comics I’ll come back to every so often.

Life's not that simple, Nny.  Trust me.