Books/Manga/Movie Recs: Lots of Ladies Edition!
Tuesday, June 26th, 2012 02:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
retsukoIn Books:
Are You My Mother?, By Alison Bechdel: I actually finished this book a while back, but I've been grappling with it ever since I read it. It's not an easy book, yet I read it fairly quickly, over about three or so days. I remember my initial gut reaction having to do with my resolution to NEVER ask any child of mine under the age of about 20, point blank, if they love me or not. (I have read about this twice now, once in a fictional situation, and once in this auto-ficto-biographical situation, and it never leads to anything good for anyone involved.) But, of course, there's more to this book than that moment, and that sad bit of meaningful narrative.
So, in summary-language, this book is a companion to Bechdel's previous work about her father, Fun Home. In this work, Bechdel makes a strong and compelling case for the possibility that her father was gay, and that he committed suicide. On the surface, AYMM? seems to take up the other half of that story: her mother's life and the things that her mother held back on, whether from internal or societal pressure. I've read a few reviews that have, rather unkindly, dismissed AMMY? as a bookend to Fun Home. To make that judgment is to ignore the other issues that AYMM? addresses, like the construction of memory and relationships, the uses of psychotherapy, and, most importantly, the narratives we build around ourselves, consciously and unconsciously.
Bechdel, as usual, is a master (mistress?) of her craft when it comes to visual storytelling, and she incorporates the narrative of making the story into the book that the reader has in her hands into every page of said book. There's a terrific series of panels and pages that suggests how this work itself is an act of therapy: in one scene, Bechdel depicts herself in tears after a tense conversation with her mother about Bechdel's sexual orientation (the dialogue from her mother, "I don't know why you can't understand me" hangs over the final panel on one page like an tombstone epitaph), and two pages later, we see how the image came together as she restages the pose to photograph to make into the book itself. These are images within images within pages, and there are multitudes of them throughout this book. Life, Bechdel suggests, is not a tidy, linear narrative. It is boxes within cupboards, secrets in words, things hidden and unseen, teased from dreams and memories.
The theme of reconstructing memories permeates throughout as well. In one of the most effective pages, Bechdel reconstructs a moment from when she was an infant--five photographs which she provides the words for, intertwined with the work of psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott about the construction of identity and the maternal self. Based on Bechdel's reconstruction of her mother's experiences as a parent, it sounds like that identity was a difficult one for her mother to assume. (If anyone had told me that I wasn't a "good cow" while I was trying to nurse my son, I'm not sure if I would have punched them, burst into tears, or both.) The family she'd married into was well-meaning, but easily angered, and Bechdel's father was prone, as she puts it, to sudden rages. Meanwhile, Bechdel's mother was a smart, intellectual woman who, if she'd been born 30 years later, likely would have an illustrious academic career. Instead, she raised a daughter and two sons, took care of the funeral home, and volunteered with the local community theater. Bechdel dedicates the book to her mother, "who knows who she is." This play on words is both loving and just a little bit snide, and having read the whole thing several times, I can't bring myself to blame Bechdel for being snide. What mother just stops giving her daughter at age seven? But beyond this snarky comment, Bechdel never seems to get angry at her mother. This book could easily have into my most hated genre of "whiney people and their problems", but it's saved from this by Bechdel's candid depiction of her own hateful, teenage snarkery and her honest exploration of what it means to be a mother from a psychoanalysis point of view. After all, the construction of memory goes in all directions--we build it for ourselves and others. I think it's a compliment to Bechdel's mother that her daughter cares enough to reconstruct a series of memories that so clearly explains why her mother is who she is.
Above all, I think this book and the one that preceded it are two of the best arguments I've ever read for the continuing necessity of the feminist and gay rights movements. One of the saddest moments of dialogue between Bechdel and her mother comes at the prompting of Bechdel's therapist; Alison asks her Mom what the most important she learned from her own mother was, and without skipping a beat, her Mom answers, "that boys are more important than girls." That answer is so full of missed potential of all kinds that it made me stop reading for a moment and reflect on how lucky I was not to be raised by anyone who had had that experience.
I do highly recommend this work. I don't think it's just another half of a story; it's a complete piece of work that stands on its own. There is an awkward distance to parts of it (and I'll be the first to admit that the amount of theoretical writing in it made me pause), but it's a narrative that needs to be brought into the open carefully for both artist/writer and reader.
Dracula, words by Bram Stoker, pictures by Becky Cloonan: I've written before about how much I love Becky Cloonan's artstyle; she has a wonderful sense of composition and character and her pages are always dynamic, even when the characters aren't engaged in intense action. This illustrated version of Dracula allows her to imbue the characters with more personality and soul than Stoker's original version does. Mina and Jonathan's love story, in particular, becomes more touching with illustrations, and Mina's evolution from sweet, virginal lady into sadder but wiser girl also rings much more true. Cloonan's illustrations also highlight the sexual aspects of the story, but without over-sensationalizing the people and acts involved. The color palette of black, red, and midnight blue is lovely and fits the mood of the book. I'm a little less sure of the quotes superimposed behind the text, but it's not on every page, and I see what the designers were going for.
In Comics:
Skeleton Key, Color Special One Shot, by Andi Watson: I grabbed this way back on Free Comic Book Day, without knowing that it was part of a larger series. Thankfully, the adventures of perpetually lost schoolgirl Tamsin, kitsune Kitsune, and adorable unnamed sidekick Raccoon are immediately accessible and sweet. It's like Doctor Who meets Onmyouji, with a twist of Lost. I can't wait to pick up the others now!
In Manga:
Hidamari Sketch/Sunshine Sketch, Volume 6, by Ume Aoki: This story continues to be slowly paced and character-driven. However, given that Aoki is steering two of her main characters towards graduating and changing the entire structure of the plot with that development, I don't blame her for the slow pace. I was glad that these two characters, Hiro and Sae, got a lot of character development in this installment, because they certainly do need it in order to make their inevitable departure properly emotional. Yuno and Miyako continue to anchor the plot, and it's nice to see that Yuno is cutting down on the self-deprecating dialogue as her confidence in her artistic abilities grows. I'm looking forward to #7.
At the Movies:
Brave: It occurs to me now, having just written about Alison Bechdel, above, that in some ways, Brave is AYYM?-lite. Well, not exactly. It's definitely wrestling with similar facets of the same issue, but it's a Disney movie, and so a lot of the thornier problems are ignored. But that's no reason to skip it; it's still a strong piece of filmmaking and is notable, if for no other reason, for having a princess in it who doesn't want to be a princess. (And having a Queen who actually wields power!) It's also notable for gorgeous textures and landscapes. Every piece of cloth, every stone and tree in the forrest, every strand of hair in this movie, I could imagine what touching them would feel like, and it was beautiful. But overall, I really liked this movie because its message was so strong: you can't change people into something they're not, but you can change your expectations of them, and by extension, your relationships with them. It was quite lovely, really. And it made me wish I had a small girl who I could take to this film, so that we could talk about what it was all about. :)
Are You My Mother?, By Alison Bechdel: I actually finished this book a while back, but I've been grappling with it ever since I read it. It's not an easy book, yet I read it fairly quickly, over about three or so days. I remember my initial gut reaction having to do with my resolution to NEVER ask any child of mine under the age of about 20, point blank, if they love me or not. (I have read about this twice now, once in a fictional situation, and once in this auto-ficto-biographical situation, and it never leads to anything good for anyone involved.) But, of course, there's more to this book than that moment, and that sad bit of meaningful narrative.
So, in summary-language, this book is a companion to Bechdel's previous work about her father, Fun Home. In this work, Bechdel makes a strong and compelling case for the possibility that her father was gay, and that he committed suicide. On the surface, AYMM? seems to take up the other half of that story: her mother's life and the things that her mother held back on, whether from internal or societal pressure. I've read a few reviews that have, rather unkindly, dismissed AMMY? as a bookend to Fun Home. To make that judgment is to ignore the other issues that AYMM? addresses, like the construction of memory and relationships, the uses of psychotherapy, and, most importantly, the narratives we build around ourselves, consciously and unconsciously.
Bechdel, as usual, is a master (mistress?) of her craft when it comes to visual storytelling, and she incorporates the narrative of making the story into the book that the reader has in her hands into every page of said book. There's a terrific series of panels and pages that suggests how this work itself is an act of therapy: in one scene, Bechdel depicts herself in tears after a tense conversation with her mother about Bechdel's sexual orientation (the dialogue from her mother, "I don't know why you can't understand me" hangs over the final panel on one page like an tombstone epitaph), and two pages later, we see how the image came together as she restages the pose to photograph to make into the book itself. These are images within images within pages, and there are multitudes of them throughout this book. Life, Bechdel suggests, is not a tidy, linear narrative. It is boxes within cupboards, secrets in words, things hidden and unseen, teased from dreams and memories.
The theme of reconstructing memories permeates throughout as well. In one of the most effective pages, Bechdel reconstructs a moment from when she was an infant--five photographs which she provides the words for, intertwined with the work of psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott about the construction of identity and the maternal self. Based on Bechdel's reconstruction of her mother's experiences as a parent, it sounds like that identity was a difficult one for her mother to assume. (If anyone had told me that I wasn't a "good cow" while I was trying to nurse my son, I'm not sure if I would have punched them, burst into tears, or both.) The family she'd married into was well-meaning, but easily angered, and Bechdel's father was prone, as she puts it, to sudden rages. Meanwhile, Bechdel's mother was a smart, intellectual woman who, if she'd been born 30 years later, likely would have an illustrious academic career. Instead, she raised a daughter and two sons, took care of the funeral home, and volunteered with the local community theater. Bechdel dedicates the book to her mother, "who knows who she is." This play on words is both loving and just a little bit snide, and having read the whole thing several times, I can't bring myself to blame Bechdel for being snide. What mother just stops giving her daughter at age seven? But beyond this snarky comment, Bechdel never seems to get angry at her mother. This book could easily have into my most hated genre of "whiney people and their problems", but it's saved from this by Bechdel's candid depiction of her own hateful, teenage snarkery and her honest exploration of what it means to be a mother from a psychoanalysis point of view. After all, the construction of memory goes in all directions--we build it for ourselves and others. I think it's a compliment to Bechdel's mother that her daughter cares enough to reconstruct a series of memories that so clearly explains why her mother is who she is.
Above all, I think this book and the one that preceded it are two of the best arguments I've ever read for the continuing necessity of the feminist and gay rights movements. One of the saddest moments of dialogue between Bechdel and her mother comes at the prompting of Bechdel's therapist; Alison asks her Mom what the most important she learned from her own mother was, and without skipping a beat, her Mom answers, "that boys are more important than girls." That answer is so full of missed potential of all kinds that it made me stop reading for a moment and reflect on how lucky I was not to be raised by anyone who had had that experience.
I do highly recommend this work. I don't think it's just another half of a story; it's a complete piece of work that stands on its own. There is an awkward distance to parts of it (and I'll be the first to admit that the amount of theoretical writing in it made me pause), but it's a narrative that needs to be brought into the open carefully for both artist/writer and reader.
Dracula, words by Bram Stoker, pictures by Becky Cloonan: I've written before about how much I love Becky Cloonan's artstyle; she has a wonderful sense of composition and character and her pages are always dynamic, even when the characters aren't engaged in intense action. This illustrated version of Dracula allows her to imbue the characters with more personality and soul than Stoker's original version does. Mina and Jonathan's love story, in particular, becomes more touching with illustrations, and Mina's evolution from sweet, virginal lady into sadder but wiser girl also rings much more true. Cloonan's illustrations also highlight the sexual aspects of the story, but without over-sensationalizing the people and acts involved. The color palette of black, red, and midnight blue is lovely and fits the mood of the book. I'm a little less sure of the quotes superimposed behind the text, but it's not on every page, and I see what the designers were going for.
In Comics:
Skeleton Key, Color Special One Shot, by Andi Watson: I grabbed this way back on Free Comic Book Day, without knowing that it was part of a larger series. Thankfully, the adventures of perpetually lost schoolgirl Tamsin, kitsune Kitsune, and adorable unnamed sidekick Raccoon are immediately accessible and sweet. It's like Doctor Who meets Onmyouji, with a twist of Lost. I can't wait to pick up the others now!
In Manga:
Hidamari Sketch/Sunshine Sketch, Volume 6, by Ume Aoki: This story continues to be slowly paced and character-driven. However, given that Aoki is steering two of her main characters towards graduating and changing the entire structure of the plot with that development, I don't blame her for the slow pace. I was glad that these two characters, Hiro and Sae, got a lot of character development in this installment, because they certainly do need it in order to make their inevitable departure properly emotional. Yuno and Miyako continue to anchor the plot, and it's nice to see that Yuno is cutting down on the self-deprecating dialogue as her confidence in her artistic abilities grows. I'm looking forward to #7.
At the Movies:
Brave: It occurs to me now, having just written about Alison Bechdel, above, that in some ways, Brave is AYYM?-lite. Well, not exactly. It's definitely wrestling with similar facets of the same issue, but it's a Disney movie, and so a lot of the thornier problems are ignored. But that's no reason to skip it; it's still a strong piece of filmmaking and is notable, if for no other reason, for having a princess in it who doesn't want to be a princess. (And having a Queen who actually wields power!) It's also notable for gorgeous textures and landscapes. Every piece of cloth, every stone and tree in the forrest, every strand of hair in this movie, I could imagine what touching them would feel like, and it was beautiful. But overall, I really liked this movie because its message was so strong: you can't change people into something they're not, but you can change your expectations of them, and by extension, your relationships with them. It was quite lovely, really. And it made me wish I had a small girl who I could take to this film, so that we could talk about what it was all about. :)
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Date: 2012-06-26 09:24 pm (UTC)