In her analysis of Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis, Heather Chute describes how the form of graphic narrative allows for a unique depiction of trauma, largely through “its sometimes consonant, sometimes dissonant visual and verbal narratives” (Chute 94) allowing for the reader to perceive an aspect of trauma beyond that represented in words. Chute states that Satrapi uses a “disjuncture between narration and image” to “create a complex autobiographical fabric” (96) and that this is a testament to the potential for graphic narrative to be not only autobiographical, but to bring to the genre ways of counteracting “dominant tropes of unspeakability, invisibility, and inaudibility” surrounding trauma narrative (93). This sort of visual-verbal interaction occurs within prose life narrative as well, generally, this interaction is considerably more consonant as it is through the verbal that the visual is imagined. However, how does the dynamic of understanding trauma change when the reader’s imagined visual understanding exceeds that which the author could have seen himself; if, for instance, the author is blind.

Ryan Knighton’s Cockeyed depicts his transition into blindness as time passes. Knighton, as any skilled author, uses language to allow for the reader to feel as if they are in his place. Whilst it may be pointless to imagine understanding how “the reader” will react to any particular moment of the memoir, it is reasonable to assume that the reader visually imagines considerably more than what the blind Knighton can see. To clarify, Knighton is not fully blind during the majority of the memoir, however, his sight is incomplete at its best. The imagery we see accompanying him in his memoir is essentially all imagined (with some guiding verbal help), however, that is not to suggest that it does not exist. In fact, even though chute’s work addresses a piece with tangible, visual storytelling, she highlights the importance of this imagined visual. Chute uses multiple examples from Persepolis in which the young Satrapi (whom in this context Chute considers “Marji”) imagines horrors she herself did not witness. Chute argues that these imagined scenes, which fill panels with simplistic, comprehendible images of orchestrated executions, torture, and revolt, highlight a “child’s-eye rendition of trauma”, serving a purpose in their disjuncture (98).

Here is where Cockeyed comes in. Most pieces of prose use the verbal to form a visual image, always leaving some room for imagination. Cockeyed does this as well, but in the story of a blind man, the portion of the scene imagined outside the details provided in the verbal both by the reader and Knighton himself grows tremendously, increasing the disjuncture between the verbal and the visual. The question then becomes that if the disjuncture in Persepolis serves as big a purpose as Chute claims, then might the disjuncture in Cockeyed also have some latent effect on understanding trauma or disability (two words not to be considered synonyms, but potentially related)?

Through Chute’s writing we see what Marji can imagine realistically and what she can’t quite yet, as exemplified in two of the panels Chute analyzes in the passage, “The Heroes” (101). In talking about scenes of torture, Marji depicts what she imagines prisoners suffering. Chute claims that “while we are supposed to understand these depictions as the child Marji’s envisionings, they are plausible visualizations” (101). Chute than continues to say that Marji’s depiction of a man being cut into pieces is not plausible, showing “what Marji cannot yet realistically imagine” (102). Marji’s perspective changes as she grows older, but her imagined view of these events, Chute argues, “depict[s] historical trauma more effectively, more horrifically, than does realism” (102). In Cockeyed, we see Knighton’s need for imagination growing as his sight decreases, he gives less, therefore the reader can project themselves onto his character more. In his case, the disjuncture serves largely as a reminder of what he is experiencing, that is, going blind; as well as a sort of invitation for the reader to experience that change with him. Knighton’s memoir does not draw such direct attention to this disjuncture as does Persepolis, as he does not have any tangible visual storytelling, however, understanding Chute’s argument allows us to better comprehend how the visual can exist through the verbal.

References:

Knighton, Ryan. Cockeyed: A Memoir. New York: Public Affairs, 2006. Print.

Satrapi, Marjane. Persepolis. New York, NY: Pantheon, 2003. Print.

Chute, Hillary. “The Texture of Retracing in Marjane Satrapi’s “Persepolis”.” Women’s Studies Quarterly 36.1/2, Witness (2008): 92-110. JSTOR. Web. 13 Jan. 2017.