comics

For its summer reading club, my department puts no restrictions on what kids may read. They don't have to read particular titles or genres, fiction or nonfiction. They don't have to read library books. They don't even have to read in the traditional manner; read-alouds and audiobooks count. The only thing we ask is that books be "right for them," "at their level," etc., and even that's on the honor system.

The lack of restrictions makes it easier for the kids (fewer rules to follow) and for staff and volunteers (fewer rules to enforce). It also taps into that wonderful, literacy-promoted practice known as free voluntary reading, the premise of which is that if people are free to choose their own reading material, they will enjoy reading more, which encourages them to read more and become better at reading. My opinion is that any assigned reading should stay in school; it's summer, for crying out loud!

So, this story from one of my coworkers irked me. She lives in another library district, and she took her 10-year-old son to the library to sign up for summer reading. The library in question requires that members read a certain number of fiction and a certain number of nonfiction books. Moreover, it requires that members spin a wheel to determine which shelf they can choose a book from.

Mom's eyebrows went up, but Son enjoyed spinning the wheel. They went into the stacks and found the corresponding shelf, and Son chose a book. He carried it back to the librarian's desk for approval. Whereupon the librarian told him it didn't count, even though he'd picked it off the specified shelf, because it was a comic book.

Oooh, it makes me mad just writing about it! Graphic novels and comics are legitimate literature that exercises and promotes literacy. I could not believe that after complying with all those restrictions, the boy's chosen book still didn't fit this library's notion of what constitutes summer reading.

My coworker's planning to write to the library director. My hope is that the librarian who shot down the comic book was acting under misinformation. But at too many libraries—public libraries— comics and graphic novels are still the red-headed stepchildren of "real" books.

It's been a very good couple of weeks, reading-wise. These are two of my favorites, both excellent graphic novels for adults and teens.

Life Sucks, by Jessica Abel, Gabe Soria, and Warren Pleece (First Second, 2008)

What if vampires weren’t the romantic figures of legend: rich, beautiful, and powerful? What if they were ordinary people with “regular crappy jobs”?

That’s the question Dave poses to his vampire-wannabe crush Rosa, and he ought to know. Transformed (and therefore enslaved) by a Romanian, poker-playing sleazebag vampire named Radu, Dave is doomed to spend the rest of eternity as night manager at the Last Stop convenience store, rotating hotdogs and selling blood orange juice to the nightly crowd of vegetarian goths.

Dave endures all the drawbacks of being a vampire (can’t endure sunlight or regular food) but enjoys none of the perks. He’s the same shy, gawky geek as ever, and his work uniform isn’t exactly a chick magnet. Because he refuses to kill, drinking only expired plasma, he can’t cash in on powers like super-strength, hypnotism, and turning to mist. How can he possibly compete for Rosa’s affection?

Life Sucks is Clerks meets Dracula meets Better Off Dead, in all the best possible ways. Winning characters, hilarious dialogue, strong writing, and top-notch art make this a graphic novel you won’t want to miss. Highly recommended for teens and adults.

More Links
Bookshelves of Doom reviews Life Sucks.

Skim, by Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki (Groundwood, 2008)

In this quiet, poignant coming-of-age story, high schooler Kim (called Skim because she’s so often overlooked) comes to grip with Life in the wake of a fellow teen’s suicide.

Kim struggles with many familiar teen concerns. She seeks to define her identity through her diary and exploration of goth culture and Wicca. Her best friend, Lisa, seems to be drifting away. Kim’s hopelessly in love with her English teacher, Ms. Archer (significantly complicated by Ms. Archer seeming to reciprocate). She feels terribly out of place among the phonies at her all-girls school, all of whom seem to think she's suicidal just because she's different and on the morose side.

What makes this book so special is the fine storytelling and gorgeous, brushy illustrations. The characters are sympathetic and fully realized, and the writing is beautifully spare with plenty of wry humor. Again, highly recommended for teens and adults.

More Links
Belletristic Impressions interviews Mariko Tamaki.

Happy Free Comic Book Day! Yes, comic books, those consistently overlooked, underrated, and misunderstood pieces of sequential art that, I dare say, do more to inspire literacy than any wretched Bob book. So get out to your independent comics store, pick up some free comics, and buy a few goodies while you're at it. Here are some recent favorites of mine.

Incognegro, written by Mat Johnson, art by Warren Pleece (Vertigo/DC, 2008)
Colleen at Chasing Ray alerted me to this gem. The fictional account is set in the South in the 1930s, when lynchings were so common they ceased to be news and municipal officials turned a blind eye.

New York City journalist Zane Pinchback identifies as a Negro, though his pale hair and eyes allow him to "pass" as white, making him uniquely qualified to go undercover and make sure these lynchings aren't simply swept under the rug. But his work takes on new urgency when his own, darker-skinned brother is accused of murdering a white woman in the Deep South and Zane's the only person willing and able to uncover the truth.

Incognegro succeeds as a page-turner of a mystery/suspense, but its real weight lies in its powerful social commentary on the meaning our society places on skin color. Highly recommended for adults and teens. (Also reviewed by the New York Times.)

Runaways, written mostly by Brian K. Vaughan, art by a boatload of folks (Marvel, 2004–present)
My friend Evan suggested this series to me, and I'm glad he did! I just finished breezing through the first seven trades (collecting Volume 1, #1-18, and Volume 2, #1-24). Apparently Joss Whedon started writing the series after that, but I haven't gotten my hands on those issues yet.

The premise is catchy. One night, the six kids of an L.A. supervillain gang known as The Pride learn what their parents are up to and decide they're not interested in joining the family business. Initially aged 11 to 16 (if memory serves), they run away together to hone their own superskills and foil the Pride. Of course, lots of other bad guys turn up, too, not to mention those pesky, interfering NYC heroes and the general drama that results when you put a bunch of hormonal young folks into an intense situation (i.e., secret crushes, snogging, and jealousy). Oh, and one of them is a traitor, too, but we're not sure who...

It's a well-written, well-drawn series that turns many superhero conventions on their heads, while maintaining humor and heart. Also remarkable is the diverse cast of characters. Set in L.A., the multicultural cast (white and black, people of Asian, Hispanic, and Jewish ancestry, etc.) comes off as natural rather than obvious and forced. The male-female ratio is balanced, sometimes even tipped toward the female side, and these girls are not underdressed, oversexed, or at all wussy. At least one character is gay, and Volume 2 introduces a shapeshifting character whose natural form is apparently male but who is just as comfortable in female form. There's even some variety in body type, though most of the characters still tend toward the waifish end. Basically, it's got all the diversity everyone's been looking for in comic books all these years—a sign of the progress everyone's hoping for.

In conclusion: a superfun series for junior high and up!

ETA, 5/4/08 - Until this week, I somehow completely missed that Tales from the Farm, a graphic novel I mentioned in February won a 2008 Alex Award. YALSA, the young adult services division of the American Library Association, gives the Alex Award to books published for the adult market that have great teen appeal. The award is ostensibly named after librarian great Margaret "Alex" Edwards, but I think it could just as easily stand for Adult Literature that's actually EXciting.

Today may be Poetry Friday, but tomorrow, Saturday, May 3, is Free Comic Book Day!

The first Saturday in May, independent comic book stores across America offer a selection of free comic books. There’s always an assortment for different age groups from a mix of large and small presses. (Two of my favorites last year were a collection of early, rejected Peanuts strips and the first issue of Greg Rucka and Steve Lieber’s Whiteout, a great mystery/suspense set in Antarctica.) Visit your local comic book store, pick up a handful, and do a little shopping while you’re at it!

In recognition of Free Comic Book Day, here are some superhero-themed poems I found online. First, in recognition of one of the hardest-core professions out there:

Female Comic Book Superheroes

are always fighting evil in a thong,
pulsing techno soundtrack in the background
as their tiny ankles thwack

against the bulk of male thugs,
They have names like Buffy, Elektra, or Storm
but excel in code decryption, Egyptology, and pyrotechnics…
(read the rest here)

— Jeannine Hall Gailey

Next, a humorous ode to the superpowers of any teenage boy (or girl, for that matter):

Steve the Superhero
I'm Steve the Superhero
and you simply won't believe
the superpowers I possess
by merely being Steve.

My smile can crack a mirror
and my breath can make you faint.
And when I take my socks off
it's been known to peel the paint...
(read the rest here)

— Kenn Nesbitt

And finally, a darkly humorous, adult-oriented (you’ve been warned) musing on just what those caped men are up to as they leap from rooftop to rooftop:

Superheroes
You have to jump,
and it's a long one,
but you make the leap.
Far below, a few cars are moving,
their lights illuminating
the fog from within,
its swirls and eddies the internal organs of
Ghosts.
You stumble and catch yourself
on the next roof with the fingertips
of your right hand on the gelid
Tar. You wiggle your fingers to
obscure any possible prints and
stroll over to the skylight.
She is waiting, alone in her bed…
(read the rest here)

— David C. Kopaska-Merkel

To complement these poems inspired by comics, how about some comics inspired by poetry? Check out Mother Goose on the Loose: Cartoons from the New Yorker, edited by Bobbye S. Goldstein (Abrams, 2003)! As you might expect, it includes dozens of single-panel cartoons directly inspired by nursery tales, ranging from smirk-worthy to laugh-out-loud funny. School Library Journal recommends it for grades 6 and up, and I have to agree; most of the humor will fly over the heads of younger children. (There's occasional adult humor in there, too, but nothing that'll kill 'em.)

Enjoy this week’s Poetry Friday round-up at Big A little a!

In the past couple weeks, I’ve read a number of graphic novels worth mentioning (and some not worth mentioning, too, but…I won’t mention those). I’m one of “those people” who believes in comics as both a legitimate art form and literary form and loathes adults who unilaterally pass them off as rubbish*. Here are some teasers of the non-rubbish ones.

Jellaby, Volume 1, by Kean Soo. Portia’s an oddball at her elementary school; her analysis of Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia for a book report is proof enough of that. She’s lonely at home, too. Mom works late, and Dad is mysteriously out of the picture. Then one night, Portia looks out her bedroom window to see what appears to be a dragon—a large-noggined, stubby-winged, tail-clutching baby dragon who’s lonely and frightened. Portia calls him Jellaby. But how’s she going to get him back home—wherever home is?

Two caveats: first, the packaging leads the reader to believe Jellaby is a self-contained story, so the words “To be continued” on the final page are a bittersweet surprise. Second, in spite of the super-cute illustrations and largely benign premise, I’d give this book a PG rating, as a couple of scenes include a sinister man who frightens and/or chases Portia.

Amulet, Book 1: The Stonekeeper, by Kazu Kibuishi. Following the death of her father, Emily, her brother Navin, and her mother move to an old family home across the country. They haven’t been there even a day, though, when Emily awakens a powerful amulet, her mother is swallowed by a tentacled monster, and Emily and Navin are thrust into a strange and dangerous new world in trying to save her. Utterly lost, the children’s only guidance comes from Emily’s amulet, but can it be trusted?

Again, the cute illustrations and characters, including a pink bunny-like creature called Miskit, might mislead readers into thinking this series is for very young readers. But it does have its scary moments, namely monster attacks and Emily’s dad’s tragic death. I’d give it another PG rating.

Blankets, by Craig Thompson. I borrowed this monster, autobiographical “illustrated novel” from the library a couple years ago, but just used a gift card to buy my own copy. It’s well worth re-reading: beautiful illustrations, pretty much seamless interweaving of themes and storylines, and a well-told story (if at times a bit overwritten—a small quibble, truly).

On the surface, Blankets is the story of Craig’s first love with a girl, Raina, whom he meets at his church camp. Craig’s family is evangelical Christian, and he is a true (if at times questioning) believer, even though the church has taught him to deny the worth of his artistic ventures and the physical aspects of love. Craig’s relationship with Raina breaks his faith wide open. Though their relationship isn’t built to last, as a result of their time together Craig experiences meaningful changes in his relationships with his family, his art, and God. And that’s where the heart of the story lies: in Craig’s redefinition of faith. As someone who's continually redefining faith, as I think a great many intelligent people do, I felt Blankets really hit home for me in that regard.

The themes and subject matter are pretty mature, with some (in my opinion, very tasteful and appropriate) depictions of nudity, making Blankets best suited for readers in their teens and up. It’s one of those books you really hope makes it to the world outside of comic book stores and the teen shelves, because there’s so much for even the stodgy “comics are rubbish” reader to appreciate. Okay, maybe not them—but all the rest of us.

*I blame all (over)use of the word "rubbish" on my current BBC binge.