Form And Function

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This past week I read Maus I and II for the first time, and I must say with all of the social, literary, and diegetic complexities that Art Spiegelman manages to write and draw into the graphic novel/comix, it seems a very daunting task to discuss it here. Maus is also the first graphic novel I have ever read. I never had an aversion to the medium/form/genre but simply never knew where to start, or never had a strong enough desire to wander aimlessly into what was available. However, reading Maus after reading several other personal narratives in the past few months really emphasized for me the importance of form in any type of media. As Marshall McLuhan famously said,

The Medium is the Message.

The greatest reward in reading Maus is experiencing the way Spiegelman marries form and function in order to create, retell, and recount both his father’s holocaust survival story, as well as his own story with his father. Comix/cs as a form are so incredibly versatile but because of their place historically within art culture as being “funny books” (think Sunday Funnies) or purely as entertainment value superhero stories, many people approach them with so many presumptions.  Spiegelman uses this to his advantage with the “funny animals” trope by drawing the Jews as mice and the Nazis as cats, so that on the one hand we have a sort of a priori Tom-and-Jerry-like feud, and on the other a very real account of human suffering. The dissonant effect created by Spiegelman’s artistic choices jars readers, or at least it did me, and is especially effective when he references the “funny animals” trope within the text itself!

Spiegelman’s use of so many diegetic levels, the level in which the holocaust story plays out, the narrative level in which Vladek is telling the story to Art, and the narrative level in which Art discusses the production of the Maus itself, are all possible because of the function of the comic form. From panel to panel it is so easy to read the narrative even as we are going from the past to present, to present in the past, and vice/versa, because there is a textual narration as well as the visual guide of the panels. When Spiegelman breaks the fourth wall it also seems natural within the comic, and would be much more difficult to execute within the form of a novel, and much less believable/serious in a film.

Greg Burgas over at goodcomics.com wrote an article that muses over the art work from a few very different styles of comics, underlining the versatility of the form. While the article is long, and not particularly well written, there is a consistent thread throughout that he believes sets comics apart from any other art form. Because the form has so many traditions that are widely recognizable, such as panel sizing, speech bubble shapes, text size; that when they are broken, morphed, transformed, and played with, the deviant effect can have great consequences. In addition, comics have the advantage in over/under emphasizing dimensions, and taking liberty with distortion when drawing characters and setting. Movies, as Greg states, can do this with special effects, and novelists can write the details in, but there is something about the lucidity of comic art next to text that grants comic narratives verisimilitude. It is the nature of the form to be drawn and created, whereas film effects are achieved in post-production, comic drawing is done in production itself.

Speaking To Memory: Testimony and Response

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The Speaking To Memory exhibit at UBC’s Museum of Anthropology showcases testimony, government documentation, photographs, and formal appologies on behalf of church, police, and state, regarding the Residential school system in Canada, and more specifically, the people affected by attendance at St. Michael’s Indian Residential School at Alert Bay, British Columbia, during the late 1930s. The Truth and Reconcilliation Commission, with a budget of $60 million over 5 years, has been in the process of gathering the information, along with testimony from those affected by the atrocities commited at the Residential schools, with the mandate of sharing experiences and creating transparency around the dark history of Canada’s past in order to form strong relationships through reconciliation.

What struck me initially were the quotations from Duncan Campbell Scott, Canada’s Indian Affairs minister circa ______, and other government official statements, superimposed on images of the St. Michael’s school in its current state. These images really prepared me for the rest of the exhibit; they introduced the motivations and intent behind the Residential school system while also reminding me of the comprehensive human rights violations and unspoken failures that came about with them.

On the other hand, these images also served to guide my response to the exhibit. When I came to the short testimonies thumb tacked to the North wall, and found several which claimed nothing bad had happened to them at the schools, and that they had valued their experiences from their childhood as positive and affirming, I was shocked. I expected all of the testimonies to be filled with anger, frustration, pain, and sorrow. When they weren’t, I almost wanted to reject them as untrue. These positive statements broke my expectations of what I would expect from victim testimony, and in the process expanded what I found to be acceptable conversation concerning residential schools. While these positive testimonies may have been strategically placed for contrastive effect, and while their positive experiences may have been gleaned from the ignorance of the brutality others experienced, it was provoking to see them in the context of the exhibit. This is the value I found in the Speaking To Memory exhibit–that Aboriginal people be given a choice to have their voice heard, and their stories expressed, whether or not they follow the expected narrative line.

The publicly viewable comment book, the anonymous comment box, the photographs (where one could write in the names of any of the children they knew), and the chalk board wall were all very interesting ways of inviting response, both physically and mentally, especially within the climate of a Museum where one typically finds themselves attempting to walk through silently and without touching ANYTHING. These mediums for conversation also prompted me to analyze the types of responses one would typically feel responsible to contribute. Many simply said, “This is sad/terrible/horrible/regrettable…” etc. But there were also many responses from children who, being so young, took the opportunity in the comment books to draw pictures, some (accidentally?) sad, while others were silly and almost joyful.

And then I came across this comment.


While I obviously want to steer clear from any unjustified criticism of a religious institution, it seemed uncomfortable to me to read this comment, so much that I photographed it to consider now. It was interesting to have just finished reading formal apologies issued by church officials that were hung on white scrolls in front of floor to ceiling windows, and then to come across the sentiment: “God loves you, and he died to save you from sin!” It seemed to me that much of the pain that was caused in these schools was the complete disregard for indigenous cultures and the imposition of white, colonial, christian doctrine on groups of people that did not need God’s saving…they needed respect, dignity, agency, autonomy, and empowerment. But then again, this comment is not responsible for what has happened, or continues to happen in regards to indigenous people all around the world. It does, however, when used in the right context, with open ears, and with the right intentions, and actions to follow, contain the potential to help reconcile the human rights violations experienced by Aboriginal people at the hands of colonialist oppressors.

“What are you?” Major Minority Issues

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As a visible minority (or majority) and racially-hybrid Canadian (aren’t most of us?), I get this question all the time. “What are you?” As though I’m some sort of unicorn, or another anomaly in the system. The other question I get is, “where are you from?” And the answer, although it is true, isn’t Canada, at least it isn’t the answer these people want to hear. I’m always reminded of the brilliant video written by Ken Tanaka titled: What Kind of Asian Are You?

After reading Fred Wah’s Diamond Grill I found myself analyzing these questions more critically from the viewpoint of my own narrative. How do I feel when people probe me for my racial ancestry, completely disregarding my conception of my own identity? Is it still insulting when the comments take a turn towards, “Oh, interesting. Mixed kids are always the cutest,” or am I frustrated only because issues of race and hybridity are sensitive to my generation, who were told growing up not to see colour?

I want to brush these comments aside, to think about them as much as I would if someone asked me about my hair or the weather, but I can’t. The commodification of mixed race kids as “cute” and “ethnic” is patronizing, and we shouldn’t be reduced to qualities that arise from our parents being born of differing colours and cultures. This isn’t to say that someone asking “What are you?” is intending to be racist or antagonizing. It only means that they are ill informed, misunderstanding, and only aware of the difference between us.

While I want to avoid blubbering on about my own experiences, I do want to use them as a springboard for a discussion on race issues and the need for alternative narratives, such as Diamond Grill, that contain race, that understand the major issues, but do not revolve solely around race.

In Joan C. Williams’ article Dissolving the Sameness/Difference Debate: A Post-Modern Path beyond Essentialism in Feminist and Critical Race Theory, she argues for a move beyond the binary arguments of sameness and difference in regards to race, gender, social status, etc. She states, “A post-modern approach to difference highlights that each person is embedded in a matrix of social and psychological factors that interact in different contexts,” wherein people cannot be “essentialized” within social subsets according to ethnicity, race, sexuality, gender, hobby, or occupation, but rather are recognized for the complexity of their experience and not seen as only victims, but as other things as well.

I don’t believe Williams is repeating the mantra that we shouldn’t see colour, but rather the opposite, that we should recognize colour and understand the implications of the history of prejudice towards minorities and also acknowledge that these histories and experiences do not wholly define people. Carmen Carrera is a former drag queen super star of Rupaul’s Drag Race, and now a transgendered model for Elite modelling agency. In her interview with Katie Couric, she explains quite eloquently the complexity that goes beyond the “difference” of being transgendered (while having to skirt the insulting and embarrassing question about her “private parts”). She highlights the issues of perpetuating a single one-dimensional narrative of a minority group quite well.

It’s really personal…I would rather talk about my modelling stuff…showing people that after the transition there’s still live to live…I still have my career goals, I still have my family goals, I want to have more kids…I want to focus on that, rather than what’s down here…they always focus on the transition or the genitalia and I feel like there are more to trans people than just that.

In Diamond Grill Fred Wah jr.’s statement on page 39 also encapsulates the concept of complexity beyond race, although with much more anger. At first he lists all of the things that make him not Chinese, and goals he has set for himself to be more White, but then he finishes off by drawing attention to the differences that are being used against him.

Well fuck! I can’t even speak Chinese my eyes don’t slant and aren’t black my hair’s light brown and I’m not going to work in a restaurant all my life but I’m going to university and I’m going to be as a great a fucking white success as you asshole and my name’s still going to be Wah and I’ll love garlic and rice for the rest of my life.

Wah uses this duplicity in order to make the same point that Williams and Carrera are making: we can be white and Chinese, we can be black and gay, we can be transgendered and parents, we can be straight men and enjoy ice skating. There is no essential category any one person can fit into; we are too complex to sum our life narratives up through one string of experiences related to prejudice.

So “What am I?” I am Chinese, a dancer, British, a writer, French, a customer service worker, Irish, a student, Canadian, shy, Gay, a middle child, outspoken, and so much more than the colour of my skin or the “cuteness” of my hybridity.

 

 

 

“Peacocking” and Catharsis Through Social Media

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New technologies invoke fear in many people, often because of distaste for the rapid exceleration of their integration in our lives and in turn, our dependence on them. Online social media, like facebook, are platforms that need no introduction to the general public of industrialized nations, and whose use has skyrocketed over the past decade. According to Steve Olenski at Forbes.com, social media use has increased by 800% in 8 years for U.S. adults who are plugged in to the wonderful World Wide Web.  But even if these figures are faithful, what do they actually tell us about why such high volumes of people are using social media?

“Peacocking” is a term that has caught my attention over the past year, especially since I am guilty of ruffling people’s feathers this way (forgive the pun), as I’m sure many of you are as well.  Peacocking, according to UrbanDictionary.com’s fifth entry is, ” The act of writing on someones facebook wall to make either yourself or your friend seem more fun/cool/witty/popular. It is often done with the intention of someone in particular reading it.” I think this term can be extended to any posts that promote ethos building, as Laura Owen at Paid Content wrote, “most people want to share content that makes them look good.”

This act of intentionally weaving a bit of narrative information into the social fabric is only natural. Whether the purpose of releasing the data is to appeal to envy, excitement, pride, or concern, it seems that the majority of what we post on our facebooks, twitters, instagrams, etc. is there to say, “HEY! Look at me, look what I’m doing/eating/listening to/reading/seeing/feeling, aren’t I interesting/better than you/worth listening to/worth your time?” In class we spoke of exigence, and the information we post online seems both to display a sense of urgency (our devices are equipped with so many bells and whistles) and to relay common narrative experiences that our friends, families, and peers can relate to.

While sometimes the act of sifting through all of your friends’ content is taxing (especially the grammatically and/or mechanically inept), and while many people fear the impact of technology on “real” face-to-face interactions, this type of social media release is important, and serves a cathartic purpose. I’m not suggesting that inviting all of your friends to play Candy Crush, or sharing a link to a video with a cat falling asleep in a watermelon are going to help you cope with life’s tough decisions, but sometimes a status update or a tweet that either directly or indirectly calls out for some attention might help you feel like someone, somewhere is listening to you.

With much embarrasement I admit that I can’t seem to find the link to support the following information, but I recall either reading an article or watching a video that claimed that when we tell someone we are doing something the regions in our brain that are activated are almost parallel to when we actually physically do that thing. The same can be said for when we “peacock” online, or when we call for help. If I am trying to make myself feel better by posting about my new job, or a high grade I receive on a paper, the narrative I am expressing does in some way come true for me, and acts as a cathartic release.

In tragedy, social media has been used to the same effect, although arguably with a much greater emotional and urgent degree. “Jim” at Face Of The Matter says something similar about the modern sensibility and urge to tweet and share our thoughts and feelings about disasters, death, and tragedies.

They are experiencing life–the bad part, yes, but still–they are alive and bursting at the seams with emotion and fear and dread and being able to talk about it is key to bouncing back from it. From being resilient. From recovering.

So that while sometimes it may seem insensitive to make public your thoughts regarding these situations, or to post pictures and videos of these events, it is natural and an essential part of a global grieving process.

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