As part of the Arts One Digital initiative (which I’ve mentioned before, we’re recording various lectures delivered as part of UBC’s “Arts One” program. You can see for instance my lecture on J M Coetzee’s Foe here, in various formats. The project is going from strength to strength, and I’m confident we’ll be able to ramp it up still further next year. We continue trying new things, and this afternoon my colleague Kevin McNeilly and I hope to record a podcast discussion on Foe and Eliot’s The Waste Land.

In the meantime, you may want to check out something I wrote a couple of years ago, on Foe as an “unwriting” of Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe.

That was a very welcome and interesting change of pace. I’m not sure what I was expecting, as I don’t often read graphic novels, but I was surprized by how dark it was. I wasn’t expecting it to be any kind of classic superhero story, but there were definitely a fair number of twists that I didn’t see coming. There were still some clichés of course: the misunderstood hero, the battle against time to save the world, etc. But the creative plot twists and overall story was done well enough that those weren’t particularly frustrating or unforgivable. The heroes possessed a level of complexity that challenged our very conception of what it means to be a hero or “good guy.” They were, in some cases, just as cruel as the villains. Furthermore, this unconventional superhero tale did not shy away from death. Both hero and the civilians died, breaking away from the expected invincibility of the protagonists.

This story was both in our world and completely separate from it. I had a little trouble at first as I tried to figure out if it was supposed to be more similar or different. What were the limits of the Watchman world?  Dr. Manhattan seems to be able to defy pretty much every law of physics, but normalities are also there. Similar but different. Monstrous? Hmm.

I was intrigued by the significance of masks. I found myself thinking of Anonymous, the “hacktivist” group. There was actually an attempt, not long ago, to ban masks in protests in Canada. A significant reason for that was due to the Vancouver riots, but it was also intended to be applied to all forms of protest I believe… My memory is a little vague on the details. But as a result of the Anonymous movement, more and more people have taken up wearing masks as part of their activism, especially the Guy Fawkes masks. The idea of anonymity is significant not only to this book but to our world as well. As well, it also begs the question: is the person behind the mask the same person with or without it? How can being secured in our anonymity alter our behaviour? To being us back to the beginning of this class, I’m reminded of Plato, and the invisibility ring, and the question of justice and good and bad. Masks serve a similar purpose to invisibility.

Great text to end the year with, I really enjoyed it.

SKDHFLASJHFLADJGF;LKAJSLFKJAS;LKFJASLKFJSDHFPOUAHTPOWUASFLKJAS;KJF;SDFs

In other words…………

Best. Book. Ever. (Okay, maybe not EVER, but you get my drift)

Seriously, not joking, no kidding around, this book was fantastic. The best way to end off the ArtsOne reading list. I couldn’t believe how much emotional complexity there was in the characters. I couldn’t put this book down.

I loved the intertwining of the comic within a comic. It was a bit like a sick twisted Robinson Crusoe, but when you read the dialogue of the city alongside the fictional work, the parallels between the two were phenomenal. I found that although I was so confused with it at points, the image that stuck with me most was the raft made of corpses. The castaway’s descriptions of using dead men as a raft were almost  symbolic of the government using society as their base. In truth, we’re all kind of like those dead corpses, and the political powers are the castaway. Do we actually have a say in government, or are our voices drowned and silent like those of the raft? I believe that, unfortunately, it is the more grim one…

I found Dr. Manhattan to be perhaps the most interesting character. Yes, he was a superhuman creature who, for some reason, never wears clothing, but it wasn’t that which made him fascinate me. It was his seeming incapability to sympathize with humanity, and his omniscent, almost godlike appearance. It brought about a question of religion, especially when the Comedian shoots the pregnant Vietnamese woman. Blake tells Manhattan that he could have stopped him, yet he didn’t. Just like Manhattan really has no concern whatsoever for mankind, it makes us question whether the gods of religion really care about society. So much tragedy occurs in the world, yet no omniscent being tries to stop it. Just as Dr. Manhattan doesn’t care, can we trust a god to as well?

Rorshach broke my heart a little bit. Really, I felt pretty bad for the guy. He’s such an outcast, haunted by memories past. I just wanted to give him a hug, creepy as he was. It was interesting how he referred to his mask as his face. He wanted to exist completely outside the realm of humanity’s corruption, and he also wanted no identity. I think in referring to the mask as his face, it almost represents his inability to acknowledge repressed demons or urges. His mask is almost like a facade of civility, of everything he wants society to be, good and pure. His actual flesh is the seedy underbelly, the horrific actions and thoughts that occur on a day to day basis. He wants to hide everything that’s corrupt within himself, only acknowledging the part he’s proud of.

Literally, this book is just fantastic. I had so many emotions with this book, from wanting to cry to excitement. I just loved it.

The back cover of this states that this book changed an industry and challenged a medium, and I can believe it. This is a graphic novel written by someone who knows how to write graphic novels and drawn by someone who knows how to draw graphic novels. There is a near perfect amount and tone of dialogue in every panel, a stark attention to artistic detail that underlines and flawlessly supplements this dialogue, and, when it is needed, both parts that are only text and parts that are only pictures. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this despite my disinterest with some of the content (I wasn’t brainwashed by hero propaganda in my childhood, so the brutal realism felt more mundane than shocking), and above all, I love how the themes, characters, and situations are woven together into the grand narrative. It’s great—but it’s not perfect. If I had to state the two things about this novel that I didn’t like, it would be (1) the bolding and (2) the somewhat broken flow. Yes, I know that bolding key words is common practice in comics and such, but I find the practice annoying and unnecessary when the writing is good, which is the case here. As to the flow, the downside of this novel’s format of going through every major character’s backstory is that the sense of pacing simply flops. The middle part is where I started getting kind of bored (Manhattan = Boring), and until the jail break, I felt like the story was going nowhere. However, as I’ve said before, this novel manages to weave all of those backstories and themes together, leaving us with a satisfied, albeit anticlimactic ending. Actually, its anticlimactic nature was why it was satisfying.

Characters. This is, of course, a character-driven narrative, and had the characters sucked, this novel would have sucked—good thing they don’t. Every major actor (and some minor ones) in this play are put through this pattern of being fleshed out well, playing their part, and then leaving the stage before they overstay their welcome (except boring ol’ Manhattan). My favourite character is without a doubt Rorschach, but the true lynchpin of this narrative is without a doubt the Comedian. He is the dead central character of this novel who connects to all of the other major actors whether by history or theme and whose mark is featured on the cover and many, many times in the backgrounds of various panels. He is the one who introduces this story (notice that his part is played before his character is fleshed out), and he is the one who does, in fact, end it. Everything that he says, does, and thinks possesses a double meaning, and the *SPOILER* main “antagonist” Adrian would fall utterly flat as a character had the Comedian not been his reflection in the mirror. And in fact, the Comedian is the only link we have to the one “mystery” of this novel—Hooded Justice. This individual caught my attention early in the novel as his name was repeated just enough to make one feel suspicious (he was my candidate for main antagonist), and in addition to being the “beginning” of the costumed heroes and their philosophy, he also reflects the “end” of Adrian’s plan, Justice in the guise of a Monster. However, we have to ask ourselves whether or not Adrian really lives up to that title. Hooded Justice, possibly the one true hero of this novel, exits the stage long before the play even begins. Does that mark the unveiling and release of justice or its quiet and quickly-forgotten demise?  

Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’s Watchmen offers something of a counter-factual history of the Cold War. In particular, it imagines the central role of two generations of masked do-gooders: a 1940s cohort of “Minutemen,” most of whom are somewhat ephemeral and more than slightly ridiculous (of “Mothman,” “Dollar Bill,” and “Silhouette” we hear very little) and a 1960s/1970s gang of “Crimebusters” who take themselves a little more seriously and have a much more sinister edge.

The Minutemen are nostalgically portrayed mostly through a faded sepia photo and are clearly out of their depth when it comes to derring-do that goes beyond picking up petty thieves and minor gangsters: at their inaugural meeting, in 1939, one of them nervously admits that “Just thinking about war, it scares me.” The Crimebusters are made of sterner stuff, and feature at least one member who is genuinely superhuman. This is Doctor Manhattan, a former nuclear scientist who thanks to an accident at work now has almost unlimited powers to decompose and recompose matter, to mutate and multiply himself, to survive in the harshest environments, as well as to see past, present, and (with some restrictions) future in one instant. It is thanks to Manhattan that (in this version of twentieth-century history) the USA has won the Vietnam War and is able to hold off the Soviet threat of nuclear annihilation. Vital for US national security, he is now the only costumed crusader who legitimately pursues his vocation. By the late 1970s, as the US urban infrastructure crumbled and even superheroes were viewed as more trouble than they were worth, all the others were forced to hang up their capes. All but Rorschach, that is, a particularly violent and uncompromising individual whose mask is an ever-shifting pattern of blots and who in one way or another is the story’s central character.

But if this is a novel that stresses decay, disintegration, and the loss of innocence–and it is–none-the-less its portrait of the past is not entirely rose-tinted. For the rot set in early, as did the general sense of ambivalence that surrounds all these supposedly “super” figures. Even in 1939, the sepia-tinged harmony is soon shown to be a sham: as soon as the photo session is over, a bloody fight erupts as the “Comedian” attempts to rape his fellow Minuteman (Minutewoman?) “Silk Spectre,” only to be beaten up in turn by a third of their number, the aptly-named “Hooded Justice.” There never was a Golden Age of heroism, and this inaugural violence and violation comes to taint the second generation of superheroes too: indeed, the Comedian is the only Minuteman to continue on to membership in the Crimebusters a generation later. His amoral cynicism and frank revelry in violence is presented as a constant temptation for vigilante avengers who choose to act outside the law without ever necessarily finding an alternative moral or ethical principle. At best, ultimately the book seems at first glance to endorse a very crude utilitarianism: that conspiracy and deception on a massive scale, not to mention the destruction of (here) the entire US Eastern Seaboard (and the deaths of many millions), is justified by a project to end the Cold War and bring perpetual peace. But this, after all, is precisely the logic of the Cold War itself.

Only Rorschach and (it is implied) the Comedian balk at this simplistic balance of the greater good. Rorschach’s words as he storms out of the utopian hero (or anti-hero)’s Antarctic lair are: “No. Not even in the face of Armageddon. Never Compromise.” But he and the Comedian are killed for their pains: indeed the two deaths bookend the narrative, as it’s the Comedian’s murder that kickstarts the plot, and Rorschach’s death takes place in the final act. Can we to sympathize with their doomed resistance to the calculations of power, however well-intentioned? I think and hope so, not least because the entire story is framed as Rorschach’s (he may have been eliminated, but he has got the word out against all odds), though in some ways this means that the end only takes us back to the beginning. More strikingly, it also means that the resulting ambivalence is extreme, almost unbearable: other characters, not least the second-generation “Nite Owl” and “Silk Spectre,” are much more immediately sympathetic, more “human.” In the end, however, we are asked to sympathize with an ultra-violent cynicism whose most obvious virtue is only that it is not so deadly as a rationalism that ends up indistinguishable from nihilism.

What a grand finale. Watchmen is honestly one of the greatest pieces of literature I’ve ever read, and it just gets better and better upon each reading. Each chapter is so diverse and has so many existential ideas and thought provoking themes. What would the apparent presence of a deity do to our society? How much of our actions and beliefs are controlled and instilled by the media and community? Is free-will an illusion? And it’s never dull! The comic appeals to our generation, and is fast-paced and is a consistent page turner. And it really irritates me that anyone could possibly ignore a piece this well crafted, simply based off the stigma of its medium. It’s honestly beautiful. Graphic novels can be art, and so can a variety of other forms!

This is a classic cycle. A new generation comes along and changes aspects of something the past generation loves and the old timers hate it. This idea is addressed in Watchmen, from the generation of Minutemen to the new generation of super heroes like Dr. Manhattan. By the 50s sex appeal was on the rise, and music got a lot louder with musicians like Elvis Presley hitting the scene. So the past generation begrudges and casts their hatred of this new form of music, rather than embrace it. When motion pictures came out many people questioned their artistic value. Today, it’s clear with give the medium of a motion picture incredible value. And along came comics and the same inevitable pattern came along with it. People simply look at it and weigh the entire art form the same and deem it worthless. “It’s only pulp action crap and one-dimensional superhero spiel. And then graphic works like Maus, Watchmen and The Dark Knight Returns come out, and the new generation comes to grow and cherish it in the new medium.

Roger Ebert once stated that Video Games are not, and never will be art. Well I can tell you one thing, that fat old film critic has no right to challenge a medium he hasn’t given the time of day or ever embraced. To anyone reading this, I promise that within 30 years people will be calling video games art, believe me I’ve played some that have instilled more resonance than “cherished” works like Foe could ever manage. And our generation loves it, so when we’re old enough to be fat old critics like Ebert, we can have our say. You don’t see Rolling Stone proclaiming Wagner as the greatest musician of all time, they’re going to choose the stuff they grew up with! And while it horrifies me that Dub Step could be this Generations Rock and Roll, it is entirely possible. I just pray there isn’t a magazine 40 years down the road naming the top 100 greatest dub-step artists.

To anyone disliking what I’m saying please go ahead and listen to song song “The Times They Are A-Changin” By Bob Dylan, he’ll probably preach it better than I am at the moment. And that’s relevant because it’s also featured in the Watchmen Movie soundtrack… but that isn’t really the best movie. It’s a fantastic adaptation, but speaking of mediums, Alan Moore’s work was never supposed to be funneled to the big screen. If your changing an artform’s medium some sacrifices will have to be made, or it won’t survive. Some alterations are necessary to make it a legitimate film. Puzzles are great, and Lego blocks are also great, but you can’t finish a puzzle with lego blocks and vice versa…..

Alright, now I’m rambling a bit. But I’d just like to say, Jon I know you don’t appreciate video games so I’d like to leave you with a nice quote.

“admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’
Or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’.”

After the horrible experience of reading Foe, I got to read Watchman.  I had watched the movie prior to reading this book, but it didn’t give me the best picture.  Lots of people have said they really liked Watchman, I enjoyed it, much more than Foe and admired it in a sense.

Alan Moore basically takes the stereotypical ideal of heroes and neutralizes it, grounds it into mincemeat, does what the machine did to Dr. Manhattan.  The ‘heroes’ in Watchmen are different from the ‘heroes’ that we have studied within the texts and in pop culture.  They do not just have one Kryptonite, not just succumb to anger easily, or get beat by a dragon or old age, and certainly not fate.  The ‘heroes’ in watchmen, are all flawed, incredibly flawed, and some more than most.  They have powers, or certain advantages, but apart from that, they are very flawed, more like real people than characters (i’ll talk about this later).  Rorschach may come to one’s mind when I mention this, but I am talking about Nite Owl, who can see in the dark, but at the same time, he can’t really see in the ‘dark’ of the world’s underbelly, who to an extent, abandoned his fellow heroes, and lacks determination.  Dr. Manhattan, the overpowered, super powerful man, who is so powerful, he actually isn’t really human is also another example.  The Comedian?  He’s incredibly flawed, but at the same time it is his total A-hole attitude that lets him see into the darkness of society.

I found it interesting that artsoneb (in whoever’s blog) said that the characters in Watchmen are not ‘characters’, but are people, with incredibly detailed backstories.  I sort of agree… and sort of not.  The characters in the graphic novel are incredibly detailed and are very realistic, but they are still characters.  They are meant to fulfil a specific role within the story of the graphic novel and prove a certain point.  This means that some parts of them are fictionalized, despite how realistic they may appear to be.  Certainly, Watchmen provides a certain degree of stark/dark realism, but there is still a certain boundary between the art and reality, which makes the characters, characters.

So are the heroes in Watchmen actually monsters?  Hard to say.  I’m actually not sure.  It is very subjective and it actually should be for all of the supposed ‘heroes’ we’ve read.  Odysseus may be a hero to his family, but certainly not to the cyclops or the suitors.  Beowulf is a hero to the Geats and Danes, but not to Grendel’s mother.  It seems, that who is a hero and monster really depends on a person’s point of view.  Rorschach for his determination and black and white beliefs, which leads to his brutality, is a sort of monster, but at the same time, I see him as possibly the most naive hero of them all.  Despite that there is no moral compass within the abyss, he continues to deliver retribution according to his own form of ‘justice’ (please correct me if I’m interpreting this wrong) and never compromising despite of that.

Vincent

Foe.

         I actually was pretty surprised I enjoyed the book, considering the fact that Robinson Crusoe was a book or concept I was not a fan of. Though, just like Crusoe was in Robinson Crusoe, Susan was a bit of a whiney narrator, I feel more inclined to sympathize with her as she has tried to make well with her misfortune and genuinely continues to persevere; whereas Robinson Crusoe did things on a whim only to whine and regret his actions later.

         Now onto the actual tale. Foe is pretty good. In fact my favorite part of the book would be Susan Barton’s own retelling of the tale. A lot of it reminded me and harkened my thoughts back to The Tempest, a play by Shakespeare, which we discussed a while back in the course. The characters all exhibit traits of the central castaway characters of The Tempest. In particular I wanted to talk about language, ‘civilization’ and colonialism. The relationship of the three are somewhat similar to that of Prospero, Caliban and Ariel. And all exhibit characteristics of the three. The relationship between Prospero and Caliban is similar to that between Cruso and Friday. Despite Friday bearing no ill will of Cruso (or none that we can see apparent in Susan Barton’s tale, as she herself has talked about reliability and accuracy of recounting the tale told from Cruso and not Friday) and that he willfully help, the relationship between words and language that they use towards each other is one that can be compared to Prospero and Caliban. A major difference, and a theme they hold similar, is what should be taught of language and what effect it has. As Susan Barton feels it would be a privilege for Friday to learn the language, ‘civilizing’ him. Just as Prospero does for Caliban, who in turn mostly uses the language to curse and hate on Prospero, as he learns knows the island is rightfully his. Interestingly enough, Cruso feels that the only language he needs to know are the ones that are ‘useful’ to him. Which is very interesting to me. From which the comparison takes you to show, language is power. Had Friday widened his vocabulary, would he feel differently from Prospero, who they have worked and lived together. Since both of them are not from the island, would he feel more entitled to being king or a shared partner in crime? Do we in the English language have too many ‘useless’ words? Does language ‘civilize’ us? And different is that Caliban is vocal and voices his opinions and objections, where as Friday does not. IN addition to this you can see Susan somewhat stifling his voice when she blows up at him for playing the same tune, though that may be the only tune he knows and is how he can express himself. Which is strange as she wants him to know the wonders of being ‘civilized’ to talk and chat to, but not to really express himself? I don’t know. I am probably thinking off course and off topic.

         This is getting a bit long. But I’ll leave the blog with one of my other thoughts of The Tempest and Foe. Susan Barton taking both Foe and Friday off the island. IN this way it can be said that Foe is much like Caliban, who just wants to live on the island as the reigning king. With not much need for words or legacies. In this way she is like Prospero who puts Friday under her wing, though he seemingly does not enjoy being away from the island, as Ariel longs to be free.
         I don’t know how to juggle all my thoughts on this piece. But I will vouch for Jon. This is a good book, that is enjoyable, in my humble opinion.

When I first began reading “Watchmen,” I didn’t like it- and I didn’t want to admit it, because everyone I talked to said they liked it. Some even admitted being very excited to read it! Truth is, I found “Watchmen” to be a boring book at first. It was the first time I’d ever read a graphic novel and I preferred non-graphic novels to graphic novels. I think I would’ve liked “Watchmen” much more if it had been a non-graphic novel. The comic-book layout of the novel rather annoyed me, because after reading the dialogue bubbles, I had to scan over the images to take in the whole situation.

            And then…

            I read Chapter 6 of “Watchmen.”

            That was when I found the book to be interesting for once. It shattered my earlier beliefs that it was a boring book. It was after reading Chapter 6 that I actually liked “Watchmen.” If there’s one thing that I like about “Watchmen,” it’s the emotional depth to it. All the characters feel and act like real characters. They’re not flat, stereotypical characters. Everything they say and do has a back-story to it. I never expected a graphic novel to be so dense. After reading Chapter 6, “Watchmen” became, quite possibly, my 4th or 5th favourite book on the Arts One reading list (Frankenstein being my favourite, followed by Jekyll/Hyde, Medea, and The Yellow Wallpaper).

            I also thought about the “monster” in “Watchmen.” I first thought Rorschach as being the lonely, isolated “monster.” Then I thought Adrian Veidt was the “monster.”  By the end of the graphic novel, I came to three conclusions: a) There are no monsters, b) Everyone is a monster, OR c) Rorschach is the monster. Why are there no monsters? Because I think of monsters as being individuals that others can’t understand. I can understand why the characters act as they do. As the reader, you get to see snippets of the life history of almost all the main characters. Once you know why they act as they do, you no longer think of them as “monsters.” Or they could be all monsters, in the sense that they all live kind of… isolated from society? Rorschach is certainly isolated. He was framed from the start. Adrian Veidt is the stereotypical villain mastermind in one sense (but whether he truly is a villain or not is debatable) and operates from Antarctica, of all places! Dan and Laurie both change their name at the end. Are they now living in disguise?

            Then there’s my opinion that Rorschach is the sole monster in the graphic novel. I’m not a firm believer in this belief, but it’s arguable that he is. He’s actually my favourite character in the novel. If there’s one character that made “Watchmen” worth reading, I’d say it’s Rorschach.

 He’s fundamentally good, but because of circumstances and certain decisions that he’s made, he’s sent into “exile” from society. He reminds me of Frankenstein’s creature! Come to think of it… It was after reading Rorschach’s back story that made me like “Watchmen.” Why is he the monster? According to the esteemed Jonathan Beasley-Murray, monsters are creatures or individuals who live in isolation from society and are misunderstood. Rorschach lives in isolation from the beginning of “Watchmen” to the end. He doesn’t enter a relationship with anyone, unlike Laurie + Jon, or Laurie + Dan. He’s sent into prison by society, even though he had punished a man who had butchered a girl and fed her remains to two German shepherds. He cared about his whore of a mother, only to be physically assaulted by her and two guys he encountered on the street. He’s misunderstood a lot. I once thought Jon might be a kind of monster too. He sends himself into exile in the end. Then I decided against it, because Jon had always been welcomed by civilians. Rorschach never was.