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On Saturday I happened to be passing by one of my new favorite stores, Desert Island Comics, and decided to stop in on a whim. I left with a stack of books, including this collection of Gary Panter prints. I'm not quite sure what the deal is with this publication, as there's no information printed anywhere on it. I thought maybe it was called "The Waters Leading to Hell", but I think that's actually the title of the painting on the cover, rather than the book. But it's over-sized (about 11.5 x 15), staple-bound, printed on heavy paper, and looks awesome!
As a bonus, I was invited to choose from a box of "weird, 80s music trading cards" and managed to score this one of Harley Flanagan from the Cro-Mags. Pretty awesome (and yes, weird). 
Kramers Ergot began as a self-published mini-comic and has grown into a full-sized, extensive comics anthology, and is only getting thicker and more extravagant with each new installment. The fifth issue includes work from twenty contributors, including Gary Panter, Marc Bell, Chris Ware, Ron Rege Jr, Tom Gauld, and Kevin Huizenga, among others. It's a pretty amazing collection. 
I love how colorful this one is, particularly the spine. 
The back.
Maus might be one of the most well known modern graphic novels. A winner of the Pulitzer Prize, widely studied in schools, and generally lauded in not only the graphic novel world but in the world of literature in general, it is the subject of both praise and controversy. This edition collects both Maus and Maus II in one volume.
Maus tells the story of Art Spiegelman's parents' life under Nazi occupation, as told to him through interviews with his father. The book alternates between modern-day Rego Park, Queens, depicting Art's interactions with his elderly father, and the elder Spiegelmans' life (or lack thereof) in the Warsaw ghetto, and later in the concentration camps.
What is perhaps one of the most famous and iconic aspects of the book is that the characters are drawn as animals--the Jews as mice, the Nazis as cats, the Poles as pigs, and the Americans as dogs. I've read some criticisms of his characterizing Poles as pigs, but it doesn't really bother me. Spiegelman certainly doesn't believe that Jews are really vermin--it's more the symbolism, and the ability to distance oneself from the story by seeing them represented as animals, rather than people.
Flipping through the book I was struck by this panel, in which a fork in a road is drawn in the shape of a swastika.
There is one section of the book in which the characters are drawn as humans, a comic book within a comic book, called "Prisoner on the Hell Planet," the title of which brings to mind sci-fi comics from the 50s. It tells the story of Art's mother's inability to assimilate back into the world after surviving the concentration camps, leading up to her eventual suicide. It's a pretty chilling sequence, which reminds readers that the story isn't really about mice and cats but about the devastation of an entire population of human beings.
The Maus symbol on the book board underneath the dust jacket is rather striking.
The end papers, depicting rows upon rows of prisoners, whose eyes are still pretty haunting despite their being drawn as cartoon mice.
Asterios Polyp, is a professor and architect (though none of his designs have actually been built). After his home is struck by lightning and burns down, he flees to become an auto mechanic in the middle of nowhere, both location and occupation seemingly arrived at randomly.
The book alternates between present and past, including scenes from his childhood and failed marriage, as well as more abstract and imaginary scenes, such as those narrated by his stillborn twin brother, Ignazio, and digressions on aesthetic philosophy.
The characters are associated with a particular drawing style, color scheme, and visual motifs. This page makes me think of Will Eisner, maybe because of all the rain.
Also, I have to say that the characters have some pretty fancy digs. Even Asterios's parents live in an amazing midcentury house with Saarinen chairs and whatnot.
This seems like the type of book that you need to read a few times to absorb all of the layers and depths of meaning. I'm only on read #1. I'll have to let you know when I manage to find time for read #2.
A couple years ago I attended a work luncheon about graphic novels and picked up a free copy of this book (best table centerpiece giveaway ever). I had gone on a bit of a Will Eisner kick awhile back while working at the Austin Public Library, reading A Contract with God, Dropsie Avenue, and Comics and Sequential Art in quick succession, but this one was new to me.Of course, I didn't actually get around to reading it until a few weeks ago.
A Life Force tells the story of an out of work carpenter living in the Bronx and his rise to success, set against the backdrop of the Great Depression, the rise of Nazi Germany and the mafia.
Besides being one of, if not the, first comics artists to use the medium to tell more literary stories, one of the things that really set Eisner apart from his contemporaries was his style of layouts--he didn't stick to the typical grid, freeing himself to experiment, using the layout to aid in his storytelling. (Comics and Sequential Art delves a bit into these techniques.) He is often called out for his portrayal of women (usually as hideous/shrill/social climbers/etc), and in the case of his Spirit comics, black people (the typical stereotypes of the era). It's certainly not excusable, and to be honest, his comics aren't even my favorites as far as the stories are concerned. But regardless of his flaws, Eisner was ahead of his time in many ways, which deserves to be acknowledged. Blah blah blah.
In one of the most recent installments in the long-running Love and Rockets series, Maggie is recently divorced, working as the manager and handy-man (err, person) of an apartment complex. She returns to her old neighborhood in L.A., the fictional (as far as I can tell) Hoppers, where she runs into her old friend (and sometimes lover) Hopey, who now wears an eye patch. There's also some slightly supernatural stuff going on, which is nothing new for the series.
This story also introduces the character Vivian (see above), who is not to be fucked with.
I love how Jaime Hernandez has aged the characters over the years. They started out as teenage punks, and with each new issue they become noticeably older--in Maggie's case, heavier--and more complex, often reminiscing about the old days.
I was really sad when I heard that Harvey Pekar died last week. When I saw the obituary notice I think I audibly gasped and let out an "Oh no!" at my desk at work. He was only 70, which seems far too young to me, and he was still working, still creating comics, most recently with the Pekar Project (the latest story was posted just under three weeks before his death).
Admittedly, I'd never heard of him until the movie American Splendor came out. After that I of course wanted to read his comics (how could you not?), and sought out this collection. At the time I'd say I was mildly interested in reading graphic novels, and I guess right after that I became a bit obsessed, hunting down anything that seemed mildly interesting (luckily I worked at a library at the time). I don't think it was a direct result of reading American Splendor, though at the same time maybe I was inspired to seek out even more.
Anyway, if you've somehow not seen the movie, Harvey Pekar was a working class guy from Cleveland who had the good fortune of meeting R. Crumb, whose work gave him the idea to use words and pictures to tell his own story. And because Harvey couldn't draw, Crumb agreed to take Harvey's words and make them into pictures.
As you can probably guess from this strip, they met through their love of record collecting. (Sorry about the blurriness--still figuring out my new scanner.)
This page is from a hilarious story that was brought to three dimensions in the film.
Throughout the years American Splendor was drawn by a variety of artists. Here Gerry Shamray illustrates a scene from the office where Harvey worked as a file clerk for many years. His answer to why he never brings in any food for his co-workers is pretty great: "I don't wanna give, I just wanna freeload."
Harvey ponders man's existence. I love his contemplative look in the last panel. His writing could be philosophical, thought-provoking, moving, or just plain funny. Or all of the above.
A view of the Cleveland train yards (I think).
The Comics Reporter invited a variety of comics artists to give their thoughts on Harvey, collected here, but I thought Seth said it the best: "[Harvey was] probably the first person who wanted to use the comics medium seriously as a writer. Certainly the first person to toss every genre element out the window and try to capture something of the genuine experience of living: not just some technique of real life glossed onto a story--not satire, or sick humor or everyday melodrama--but the genuine desire to transmit from one person to another just what life feels like."I also love what Phoebe Gloeckner says: "I feel like Harvey can't die." And maybe in a way that's true--as cheesy as it sounds, he'll always be alive on the pages of his comics. But it's still so damn sad that there won't be any new ones.
On Saturday I happened to be passing by one of my new favorite stores, Desert Island Comics, and decided to stop in on a whim. I left with a stack of books, including this collection of Gary Panter prints. I'm not quite sure what the deal is with this publication, as there's no information printed anywhere on it. I thought maybe it was called "The Waters Leading to Hell", but I think that's actually the title of the painting on the cover, rather than the book. But it's over-sized (about 11.5 x 15), staple-bound, printed on heavy paper, and looks awesome!
