Week Fifteen: Revision

Revised post from "Week Seven: The Legitimation of Comics".

This week, I read volumes 1 & 2 of Maus, by Art Spiegelman. Having never read it before, it became clear to me now why it is considered such an important memoir by many. Maus is a digestible, hard-hitting and very real work by a cartoonist who is documenting the tales of his grandfather who was a Jewish prisoner in Auschwitz during WWII. For many, it is sometimes hard to find documents of the war that don't sound so wholly gruesome and unbelievable that it almost seems like a work of fiction. To someone who has never experienced the horrors of war, there can be a disconnect between fictional stories about war and how it actually happened. It can be terribly hard to relate the reality of what happens in war because it's so gruesome that it seems like it can't possibly be fact.

However, Maus does a great job of making the war seem like something real that happened and affected the people involved as well as their posterity. Because it is told from the eyes of the narrator hearing the story retold from his grandfather, it emulates the experience of the war stories seeming like some far-off, unreal thing. At the same time, however, hearing it told from the narrator's grandfather kind of reminds the reader of hearing it from their own grandfather, and can further the relatability of the story.

I think another victory of these comics are the way the characters are represented visually in the book. The characters are different races of animals-- mice, pigs, cats-- representing the ethnicity of the characters. It drives home the point of discrimination and categorization by the Nazis home in a very simple way by doing this. As well as this, by turning the characters into cartoonish animals, it gives the story a level of accessibility that I don't think it would have with human characters, had the animals be specific caricatures of the people they represent. With such little identifying features separating them, the reader is able to project themselves and/or their family into the roles of the characters in Maus. I think this feature helps give the comic the level of accessibility it needs in order to reach such a wide audience, as it did.

Week Fourteen: The Future of Comics

"Ant Comic" by Michael Deforge, from kingtrash.com

If you ask anyone in my generation who is into comics what helped them maintain their interest in comics, often they will say that they've read webcomics their whole life. Growing up in the 90's as we did, the print comics industry was waning, and a lot of people were declaring comics to be 'dying'. What a lot of people didn't anticipate though, I think, was the emerging venue of the internet. A lot of people found that the internet was an easy, cheap way to showcase your artwork and have a lot of people be able to see it (at the catch of more risky copyright issues). As print comics were largely expensive and inaccessible to most people, a lot of people started putting up their comics on the internet. As print comics died down a bit, kids like me started to read comics on the internet-- the place where we spent most of our time.

This week I read Ant Colony/Ant Comic by Michael Deforge. Deforge is a small-press cartoonist who is one of my favorite comic artists working today. He tells his stories with a very serious tone which blends unusually well with the strange-yet-humorous visual style and subject matter. Deforge is an example of a comic artist who has a lot of comics on the internet, webcomic strips, and print comics from which he makes his living. Some of my favorites besides Ant Comic are Lose (an annual anthology which is now on it's sixth issue), Sticks Angelica (an online strip that is ongoing), Abbey Loafer, First Year Healthy, and Spotting Deer. I always recommend him to anyone looking to get into small-press or indie comics.

Week Thirteen In-class Post: Alan Moore & "Promethea"

The comic "Promethea" is one whose narrative is tightly wound with a storyline told much like a myth. Because of this, the authors utilize the idea of the symbol to convey the significance of the myth throughout the main narrative. the symbol that stands out to me to me the most is definitely the sun motif that is present on every single page. It's hard to miss; and initially it seems to represent the idea of Promethea's overarching significance as a type of god figure. When you look closer you can tell that there are two types of sun motifs used. One style, an older-looking, more natural-colored sun signifies that the story is in flashback mode, showing Promethea's beginnings; the other style is brighter and newer-looking, and signifies that the story is now taking place in the present tense.

I found it interesting that the authors were able to tie in the ancient mythology into a present-tense, modern setting. Utilizing connections between the past and the future alone I think furthers the relatability of this story. Often I find that stories told in a 'mythological' style that take place hundreds of years ago are harder to connect with, as they seem so alien. I enjoyed seeing how the troubles of the Promethea of the past-- religious visions and demonic curses-- clashed with the modern-day troubles encountered by Sophie, that is, dealing with the crude way her friends talk and the stress that comes with dealing with people who are much older than you. I always like a story that features primarily female leads also, which is not something you often see.

I could honestly probably enjoy the story a lot more in another medium. I'm not entirely partial to the art style that the story is drawn in-- I love superhero comics such as Hellboy but even then, Hellboy's art style is one that I think is pretty innovative in this specific genre. A lot of superhero comics these days have been very successfully adapted to action movies, and I think Promethea would be a perfect source material to adapt a movie from. There's a lot of movies that are being made right now set in biblical times (for example, exodus) and I think Promethea fits snugly into that genre, while also bringing a female superhero lead character as well as nonwhite characters to the table of the superhero movie adaption genre. If I were to make changes to the comic itself, I'd probably redraw it in such a way that is much less dated than it looks to me-- though I'm always more partial to strange or more interesting comic styles.

Week Twelve: Comics by Women

This week we discussed any and all comics made by women, and the history behind women in comics. I read This One Summer by Mariko and Jillian Tamaki, one of the best comics released this year, in my opinion. Jillian and Mariko are kind of a cousin-team who have made a graphic novel in the past, Skim, and Jillian has experience keeping up her own comic strip, Super Mutant Magic Academy.

 This One Summer is a young girl's story about two tweens who spend their summers together near a lake in Canada, in vacation homes with their families. It's a story meant for young girls and for women who remember what it's like to be a young girl trying to figure things out (so, pretty much all of us). Comics made by women are very important, which goes without saying. The Tamaki's story is one that carries great cultural significance so far in the wake of its release.

The story is one that would probably have never been written or drawn by a man, either-- nor would many women be interested in reading such a story if written by a man, for what do they know about it? This is the basis of why comics by women are so important and can't be overlooked as unimportant compared to their male counterparts. Often, the subject matter written and drawn about (female-centered) can often not be compared to a male-centered story, they are two different things. The same goes for stories written by and for the LGBT community, by and for people of different races and nationalities, and so on. As widely acclaimed as a story can be, a comic is often never going to hit every mark as far as audience, so diversity continues to be very important.

On the other side of the coin, it's important to consider these stories as carrying the same amount of weight as stories written by white men, and not just 'niche' comics kept solely for the sake of diversity. Often it's a faux-pas to spend time in interviews with women creators, asking what it's 'like' to be a woman creator working in that field. Male counterparts never get asked this question, and instead get asked questions that delve deeper into the genius of their work. Spending time asking women what it's like to be a woman takes away from time that could be spent revealing the greatness of their work. Even in this day and age, women creators often get glossed over and many times have to work twice as hard to get recognized!

For this reason, I love This One Summer and the impact it's had on the literary community since its release. I always recommend it to my friends and anyone interested in graphic novels. I've even been in a panic a couple times over not remembering who I lent it to (my copy is signed by the Tamakis themselves)...

Week Eleven: Comics as Contemporary Literature

This week we discussed the idea of the graphic novel putting it's foot on the door of sophisticated literature. For a long time comics were not considered 'real' literature, as a novel was. However, over time the graphic novel found it's way into a type of storytelling so sophisticated that it's impossible to deny its literary importance. Some graphic novels have been written with such deep attention to the media that their story is being told in that many argue that these stories are ones that could not be told effectively in any other medium besides sequential art.

 The required reading was Asterios Polyp, by David Mazzucchelli, which I enjoyed quite a bit-- it's probably the best graphic novel I've read in years. I found deeply immersed in the book, not even finding my mind wander or wondering when the story was going to be over at any point in the book. I didn't feel that the story faltered at all, and it kept my attention.

There are a couple elements of this book that I think really bump it to the next level as far as being considered literature. What really caught me was the way that Mazzucchelli weaved visual narrative into the written narrative to create a sort of 'layered' storytelling. As the narrator spoke of the inevitable isolation one feels by never being able to truly 'mesh' with another's personality or lived experiences, Mazzucchelli used different styles of drawing the characters and environment that corrollated with what kind of person that character was. As two characters began to get along, their auras started to mesh-- if one was jolted to reality by a harsh example of the other's specific forthcomings, they were sent right back into their original, unaltered style. The artist didn't overuse this, either; it felt like he knew exactly where and when to implement this sensation. 

I think this well-done added layer of narrative-- a visual one that the reader is able to control the timing of-- is a big part of what prompted people to start considering graphic novels to have their own seat in the literary world.

Week Ten: Introduction to Manga

Illustration of Taiyo Matsumoto's Sunny

This week we discussed manga, the blanket term for Japanese comics. I've read manga since I was in middle school, and I credit it for getting me back into comics for the first time since I was a young kid, as well as getting me so deeply into comics that I now make comics myself. Since then I've started reading many more contemporary American and European indie and small-press comics, but I know it all started in manga.

Manga has an interesting stigma in the US. Even though many, many people in my generation who are now interested in comics grew up reading manga, many people belonging to older generations consider it immature or just a bad form of art, especially in the art school community. I remember one of the times when I was first visiting Ringling, I mentioned to an instructor that I really liked comics, and when he asked me which comics I liked I couldn't bring myself to give an answer, because all I would have listed were manga and even though they were great comics, I knew that he would have either laughed at me or told me that if I wanted to be serious, I'd better drop the manga. Others had already mentioned this to me, and I was well aware. Nobody took you seriously if you drew manga.

Something was mentioned earlier in the semester that I found really interesting. It was pointed out that, unlike American comics, in Japanese comics there are huge, entire genres of comics made solely for women and girls of all ages. In America, the most manga sold of any genre is shoujo manga, the genre of love stories targeted at girls. I think it's very telling of the audience that the American comic industry favors, and why manga is so overwhelmingly popular in today's upcoming generations-- woman want to read stories about women!

Some of my favorite creators making manga and anime today are comic artist Taiyo Matsumoto and animator & director Masaaki Yuasa. They both have a very unique but beautiful style that they like to create in, and at times have collaborated to create amazing works. Matsumoto has authored many successful stories, such as Sunny, GoGo Monster, and Tekkonkinkreet (now adapted into an animated movie). Yuasa has worked on different anime series and movies such as Kemonozume, Kaiba, Kick Heart, and Mind Game. Even with such unique styles, the visual languages of the two work together exceedingly well, and recently they collaborated on a show called Ping Pong the Animation. The show is based off of the 5-volume series by Matsumoto, and was adapted and directed by Yuasa. It's easily the best television show I've seen in a very long time. The two creators are very contemporary and I'm glad that their work is starting to get more popular. They're often my go-to examples for when people try and argue that manga and anime are super homogenous and never differ in style.

Week Nine: Wide World of Comics

The European comics scene is one that I wish so hard that I could have been more aware of by now. There's a huge world of comics (for instance, Hergé's works) that I have no idea about, because they don't have as much of a place in American comics culture, like Japanese comics do, for instance. I want to learn French essentially so that I can read French comics, and also talk to French cartoonists about their work. There are even a ton of French cartoonists who put their work on their blogs that are just astounding. Many people say that America is the comics capital but I would argue that the French comic industry is on par or even better on a national scale.

This week I chose to revisit a comic I read a little while ago, and still sticks with me today: Notes for a War Story, by the Italian cartoonist Gipi. What jumped out at me first about this comic was how different it is from the typical American war comic. Notes for a War Story is definitely a war comic, no doubt about it, it's right there in the title. But not only did it capture my attention for more than a few pages, if at all (something that near never happens with American war comics), but I loved it. As I said before, it stays with me to this day as a go-to recommendation I will give people who are looking for this kind of comic. I still think of it when thinking of writing great graphic novels of my own.

There are a few reasons I think that this story means so much more to me than a typical American war comic. I respect American war comics hugely and what they mean to the demographics they are made for. Many of these comics act as healing stories for people who went through similar experiences and act as a way to document, in a personal format, the way that life was back then. Accurate documentation is incredibly important, especially of war stories.

But I think in general, European comics tend to strike a more passive, emotional chord than the American stories do. There's no doubt that American war comics feature lots of action, lots of explosions, lots of violence, and a gritty realistic style meant to make you feel like you're watching a live action film. European comics however, also tend to contain more passive stories as well as aggressive ones. Notes for a War Story is a great example of this. For a graphic novel about war, you never once see a typical war scene in the entire book. There's still a lot of action and violence-- but what makes the book memorable comes from the very personal experiences of these characters and the way their personality develops through their war. Many of the conflicts are internal as well as external, and the art style is thoughtful and quiet-- and furthers the tone of the story in a visual way.

From what I've seen, European comics often stray from the beaten path much more so than American comics tend to. I'm sad that there are not more European comics translated and available in America than there are currently, but luckily they are getting more popular and we're headed in the right direction.

Week Eight: Stereotypes and the Ethics of Representation

This week we are discussing the use of stereotypes in gaming, animation, and comic culture. I think stereotypes are something that are fought for time and time again by diehard gaming, cartoon and other media enthusiasts, vehemently standing by the fact that they are necessary in order for the point to get across, necessary for people to better understand the more minor parts of a story so that the reader can now focus on the 'bigger picture' that whoever is trying to portray.

I think this is entirely false. I believe that stereotypes are created by people in positions of power and privilege to simplify, delegitimize and dehumanize them. I think that they're a lazy excuse not to do more research, be more inclusive, or make any attempt at opening up the gaming, animation or comic community to a wider audience. People who think that 'stereotypes exist for a reason' are often the same people who think that games, movies, comics, etc. don't have female protagonists because women don't play games or watch movies or read comics. They're often the same people who think that only white men created beautiful classical works of art, literature and otherwise because women and people of color 'just didn't do stuff like that'. They're often the same people that think that women and people of color still aren't making the best comics or cartoons or games because of no specific reason.

These are the kind of people who are satisfied with the answer 'that's just the way it is' without thinking of why something is that way. They don't look past the reason why stereotypes exist or why classical women/POC painters aren't recognized in history or why every blockbuster movie just has to have a white male main character.

Society actively erases the work of people who aren't the privileged ones in the equation. Many people who have the power to recognize an artist or give a game idea the greenlight or determine if there should be an option to play a woman character as well as a male character in a certain game aren't interested in diversity or being inclusive because they find it inconvenient and threatening to their position in privilege-- because, yes, many of the people who can make these decisions were put there because of their privilege. It's a cycle, and it's not a view that is visible to someone who is on the bottom of the mountain, so to speak.

Stereotypes are created in an arbitrary way and enforced by constant use over generations. It's possible to break down a stereotype by understanding that these traits are ones that people of many different races and genders possess, and instead of being a label for these traits they are simply traits that any kind of human is able to possess. Many great works have been created in the past century by actively going against stereotyping and breaking the boring bounds of what someone thinks would be a normal stereotype. I think there are better ways to immediately communicate an idea besides offensive stereotypes-- and to refer back to them time and time again is a lazy practice. So no, I don't think they are necessary to communicate an idea. There is never a need to be offensive or dehumanize an entire group of people to tell your space opera story.

Week Seven: Legitimation of the Comics

This week, I read volumes 1 & 2 of Maus, by Art Spiegelman. Having never read it before, it became clear to me now why it is considered such an important memoir by many. Maus is a digestible, hard-hitting and very real work by a cartoonist who is documenting the tales of his grandfather who was a Jewish prisoner in Auschwitz during WWII. For many, it is sometimes hard to find documents of the war that don't sound so wholly gruesome and unbelievable that it almost seems like a work of fiction. To someone who has never experienced the horrors of war, there can be a disconnect between retellings of the war and fiction they've consumed that seems like war, and the feeling that those two things give.

However, Maus does a great job of making the war seem like something real that happened and affected the people involved as well as their posterity. Because it is told from the eyes of the narrator hearing the story retold from his grandfather, it gives the experience of the war a faraway feel, but at the same time something that really happened as told by someone you trust dearly, like your grandfather.

I think another victory of these comics are the way the characters are represented visually in the book. The characters are different races of animals-- mice, pigs, cats-- representing the ethnicity of the characters. It drives home the point of discrimination and categorization by the Nazis home in a very simple way by doing this. As well as this, by turning the characters into cartoonish animals, it gives the story a level of accessibility that I don't think it would have, had the animals be specific caricatures of the people they represent. With such little identifying features separating them, the reader is able to project themselves and/or their family into the roles of the characters in Maus. I think this feature helps give the comic the level of accessibility it needs in order to reach such a wide audience, as it did.

Week Six: Underground Comix

This week we focused on the underground comics of the '60s. I read a few of Robert Crumb's comics, such as Whiteman and other shorts. I really love the underground comics movement, as I believe it jumpstarted a lot of what I find myself interested in today, being the indie & small-press comic culture. Underground comics were the first time that comics really became open to anyone who wanted to create and publish. No longer did anyone have to depend on big-time comics publishers or newspapers to serialize their comics, as many artists started to show their work in smaller, underground magazines, or simply to self-publish their own work.

That being said, much of the driving force for these creators to make these comics was the Comics Code Authority, which was in essence a censor on comics, not allowing any sort of published comic to show any sort of 'smut'. Underground comics was a way for comics creators to kind of push back and make comics explicitly banned by the code as a way to continue to explore creative freedom through the medium of comics, no matter what the government regulation was. That being said, many underground comics were very explicit, (especially Crumb's) in racial, sexual or drug-related ways. It was the first time that there had been a whole genre of comics that were very strictly for adults; the age-inclusiveness was not at all flexible. I feel that this kind of expanded people's understanding of comics and what they felt could be done in the visual medium of comics.

Crumb created many personal comics as well, which not many creators had done before. He made short comics based on his own personal experience of drug use and otherwise, as well as injected subject matter he found interesting or enthralling into his work (namely, the types of women he seemed to enjoy). This kind of personal touch in comics was something that hadn't been seen as much before this era, and is a trend that continued well into this era of comic creators; many incredible works have been made in the comic field that are memoirs or simply draw on the experience of the artist in a deep way in some form or another.

Week Five: Emergence of the Graphic Novel

This week I read Blankets, by Craig Thompson. I've never read the book in its entirety before, and I was surprised. I didn't expect a religious memoir at first, and I didn't entirely relate, but as I read on I think anyone who has even ever gone to church before (or even, has ever been a teenager or had a first love before) can probably relate to this novel. And honestly, the experience of reading the book isn't even all about whether or not you can relate to the subject material. What is important is that you are experiencing a very deep and personal story that the author has to tell, and he does it in such a down-to-earth and involving way that it's hard not to lose track of time while you are reading this book. I found myself starting to care about Craig's experiences and wonder how this played out and how it affected him later in life.

Blankets brought to mind another graphic novel memoir that stands out strongly in my mind to this day-- Stitches, by David Small. Stitches is gritty and delves deep into his complicated family life and how the events of his childhood impacted him later on. Thinking about it, it reminds me that one of the most engaging traits of a memoir-style graphic novel is how personally and deeply it can vibe with you. Something about the way that these people choose to visually portray these memories as well as how they tell them adds another layer of meaning to the entire experience. The way that many artists draw often ties in directly with their life experiences and the kind of person they are, even in the most subtle ways-- and when you add that to the fact that this person is using drawing to tell their personal stories, it's no wonder why these comic memoirs become so popular.

Week Four: The Comic Book

from a Tintin comic

Comic books are a form of comic that I didn't relate to as well growing up as a kid. I have never really been interested in superhero comics, which made up the majority of the comic books I had access to as a kid, and I never read the Archie comic books, either. Actually, the only comic books I ever read as a kid were the Archie Sonic the Hedgehog comic books, which...well... it is what it is.

Sonic and Tails are fighting!

Anyways, I'm not proud of it, but there you go.

Even as bad as they were, I think reading the Sonic comics when I was younger really helped fuel my fire as far as being interested in comics goes. I loved all the character designs, colors and worldbuilding they had going on, and it made me want to create my own stories and design my own characters-- which I did, and for a really long time that was one of the things I loved to do most. I have tons and tons of bins filled with old weird character designs and story notes that I was all trying to turn into comics (none of them made it to the finished product, of course, but coming up with the stories was really my favorite part anyways).

In class we passed around some comic books, and I got my hands on a couple of war comics. Now, I'm not that into war comics at all, and especially not war comics done in the style of an action-hero comic book. I think my favorite war comic that I've ever read was Notes for a War Story, by Gipi.

Anyways, this comic was pretty interesting in the way that it was clearly not intended for children. The subject matter was extremely heavy and the content was pretty violent and definitely not kid friendly at all. I could tell that it was intended for an older audience, maybe even an audience that is at the age where they have relatives or even they themselves can relate to a war environment. I think this is one of my favorite things about comic books is that they can be made for people of all ages-- just like regular books can!!!

All and all I acknowledge and appreciate the appeal of comic books and their ability to tell longer-form stories, but I think the majority of the genres represented in Western comic books are just not the kind of genres that I am interested in (which is why I enjoy manga a lot more than most western comics books).

Week Three: The Comic Strip

Comic strips are one of my favorite mediums for comics, and the medium that very first got me into reading and drawing comics in the first place. I feel that I owe much of the joy in my life to my early days of reading the comic strips in the newspaper every day. This led me to reading certain comic books, western and otherwise, which eventually led me to the path that I continue to try and follow today of making comics.

Growing up, I'll admit it, I was a huge Garfield fan. I also loved other ones that appeared in my newspaper every day, like Get Fuzzy, Curtis, Pearls Before Swine, Shoe, and of course, Calvin and Hobbes. As I got older, I fell more into reading all kinds of different manga-- though as I entered college I became re-introduced to all kinds of amazing old comic strips and where they originated from. I was exposed to the long, beautiful, artful pages of Little Nemo, as well as the poetic comedy that was Krazy Kat. I had no idea about any of these comics when I was younger, but if I had, I was sure that I would have loved them. I was very much drawn back in to the comic form that I originally had fallen in love with in the first place, and I am still having a blast exploring all of the undiscovered goldmines of comic strips that I simply haven't been exposed to yet.

This week I chose to dive back into Calvin and Hobbes. Reading it as an adult, I find, is an entirely different experience than as a kid. When I was younger I focused on all the quick gags and the silly situations that Calvin and his tiger got themselves into. Now that I am older, the short, lucid moments in the comic are not lost on me. Truly one of the greatest strips in history.
Calvin and Hobbes is a concept that never got stale, or tired. Calvin always picked on the same girl, had the same childish stubbornness all kids his age have, had the same exasperated parents, the same lackadaisical tiger friend. I think what this strip has that others don't is an honest exploration of all the different facets of kidhood (which are countless) tied into the lucid thoughts a kid might have that marks the passage of time and his transition into an older, more thoughtful person. Every adult reading this comic had gone through this, and Watterson's beautiful ability to tell a concise story (or rather, a small, concise piece of a story) complimented the ideals he wanted to portray with grace. I know I just used a ton of flowery language, but I feel like out of the strips that deserve the attention, Calvin and Hobbes is unanimously one.

I personally want to delve back into comic strips a bit more-- concise storytelling is one of the best exercises you can do for yourself in comics.

Week Two: "Understanding Comics"

This week's reading was Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics. I read Making Comics by the same author years ago, when I was in high school-- when reading Understanding Comics I realized that they're very similar (I believe it's just a newer version) but the basic principles presented in both books are the same.

I swear by these books. I studied McCloud's comics thoroughly and I fully contribute the good footing I gained in comics early on to these books. The concept is very simple-- teaching how to make comics through showing it in comic format. It's genius. My favorite part about Understanding Comics is that it highlights the foundation and structure of comics. Of course you can bend and meld the rules into all different kinds of ways for yourself as a cartoonist, but there are a certain set of foundation skills that you must understand if you want your comics to meet a certain level of success. What I mean by this is, if your comic is really pretty but the panels aren't in the right order or don't read easily... that's a problem. If your word bubbles are illegible or jump all over the page, and the reader has to spend 5 or more minutes trying to decide which speech bubble they are supposed to read first-- that's a problem.

Understanding Comics addresses basic issues that, without proper understanding on the artist's part, can make for a very hard-to-read, very unsuccessful comic that is disconnected from its reader. You don't want to alienate your reader when they read your comic-- quite the opposite, actually. I believe if you don't understand these basic foundations, nobody will want to read your comic, and in a way, you've failed. Understanding Comics addresses these issues in a fun, easy-to-read, relatable, and intuitive way-- demonstrating exactly what it's trying to teach! I can't explain how much I love these books. I feel like I owe them so much.

Whenever I have a friend that tells me they want to start making comics, or want to learn how to make them, I automatically offer to lend them my copy of Making Comics (many times I will just lend it to them anyways in hopes that they will read it). I feel like it gave me the tools I needed to build on top of, and taught me the basic skills of keeping my comics intuitive and legible. I feel like I had gotten much farther ahead much quicker by reading this book-- it's nothing you couldn't figure out by looking at any other successful comic and noticing what makes them good-- however it teaches you up front and I appreciated that. Anyways, I really love these books and gush about them anyways, so it's nice to be able to do the same thing for a class.

Week One: "The Arrival"

In class we established that "The Arrival" and similar graphic novels can be very successful without ever including a word of dialogue. This particular feature is one that is present in all comics and graphic novels, and is one that makes the medium so successful and so unique on it's own. The ability of comics to represent a story through still images only and not through film or spoken/written language caters to a different way of thinking and interpreting stories; one that is maybe more accessible and--not easier-- maybe different to digest than a written story or film may be.

One of the most important things that you learn when you are learning how to draw comics is that you have to treat your images that you're drawing as their own medium and the trait that carries most of the weight of the story. Most people, myself included, find it incredibly boring to read a comic that has very chunky and lengthy boxes of text included with the imagery. In fact, I find I won't even bother reading a comic that is too wordy, 9 times out of 10. Why is this? In almost all instances even the wordiest comic should be more visually enriching and less wordy than a novel would, by far. Why are wordy comics such a turn-off?

I learned quickly that the reason for that was, at least for me, when someone is reading a comic, they're switching into picture-mode. Just as it's hard to really understand a movie by just listening to the audio, it's nearly impossible to understand a comic with just the dialogue alone-- if it's done right. A good comic should SHOW the viewer the story. By being given the option of illustration, comics open up a whole new realm of possibilities as far as telling the story to the reader. Many comics rely on words, exposition and dialogue to carry the story throughout a comic-- however, this is kind of a beginner's mistake, in my opinion. Most of us are so used to 'telling' a story that we forget that there's almost so much more that we can tell a viewer, in a single instant, than we could say in a thousand words (not to be cliché, but it's true). This is why comics are so successful and often relatable, and why there is a whole different experience that you can get from reading a comic that you just can't get from a novel in many instances-- and vice versa.

Many comics lovers love the medium for this specific reason. I love what can be done in this format, what I've seen and what I think can be new. I get such a different set of feelings and experiences just by looking at the sequential images of a comic than I do from other mediums. Even in terms of movies-- when you are watching a movie, you don't get to control at what pace you experience it. While reading a comic, the reader determines how fast or slow they choose to experience it-- if they are hit particularly hard by a page or panel, they may linger for as long as they want. I find this can extend the power that the images can have on a reader, as well as the option to go back and re-read a part. The reader is more in control; much less so than when watching a movie.

A novel such as "The Arrival" is a perfect example of the potential of graphic novels and the stories they can tell without ever having to say a word. The setting of the novel takes place in such a rich universe, with tons of depth and nuance, and Shaun Tan is an expert at guiding us through the story and showing us exactly what we need to know without ever having to tell us. Many graphic novels use this format and it can be just as powerful, if not more, than novels that use dialogue.

I could go on about this forever, but the success of the graphic novel and the success of those that are wordless comes from its ability to show the reader what is happening, like a movie, though at the reader's own pace. For this reason comic-reading is a much more intimate experience and many comic artists know exactly how to make the most of that.