20080930.Berlin.Review

Book: Comic
Author: Jason Lutes
Year: 2000
Pages: 212

Every now and again, a comic comes out that assures me that the medium can tell certain kinds of stories in a way that no other medium can touch. Every now and again, a comic comes out that despite its natural humility asserts itself as a model to which the medium should aspire. Every now and again, a comic comes out that just flat-out knocks me off my feet and makes me think that everything is going to be alright after all.

That comic this time round is Jason Lutes' Berlin: City of Stones.

It's not that Berlin presents such a rosie vista of the panoply of human history. It doesn't. It's not that Berlin will offer a solution to the din of political strife that will always wrack the tired bones of human society. It won't. And it's not even that Berlin allows true love to conquer even the dankest moments of our human despair. It can't.

What Lutes' book does, however, is demonstrate that creative geniuses still stalk the earth. The great classical composers are dead and gone. The sculptors who decorated the world with marble and jade are survived only by their stones. The giants of the jazz era have passed into mere memory. Bach. Beethoven. Mozart. Michelangelo. Bernini. Rodin. Satch. Bird. Trane.

And here is Jason Lutes.

Among the geniuses of the comic form (Ware, Smith, Eisner, Hernandez, etc.), Lutes is in the top tier. His work is careful, planned, and makes use of so many narrative tricks that they cease to be tricks and exist merely as natural part of his extensive visual vocabulary. Recently having taught an introduction to comics creation, I had a hard time not using Lutes' work in every example I had prepared to illustrate technique. There is so much story built into every page that his works are the kinds that continue unfolding upon subsequent readings.

With the recent release of the second book of the trilogy, Berlin: City of Smoke, I thought it best to reread City of Stones so I could jump right into its sequel. This was my third complete read of the book and fresh narrative details continued to make themselves known. With the story and plot developments more or less solid in mind, I was able to pay closer attention to some of the methodology behind Lutes' work here, taking special care to follow his panel transitions and the way he allows the story to flit from character to character. This is all the product of a special kind of genius.

For those unaware, Berlin follows numerous characters through the end of the Twenties and the start of the Thirties in Wiemar's Germany. The economy is a disaster. The government is breaking the terms of armistice. Political turmoil grips the city as communists and fascists fight to save their country from its fate. And of course, there are the Jews, living under the quiet threat of a future none would predict. Yet despite it all, Berlin is still trying to be a Great City. There is still wealth and privilege (even while the workers begin falling to poverty and starvation) and veiled acceptance of the libertines. And the press is still free. Somewhat.

Berlin follows a Marxist journalist, a country-mouse art student, a nightclub singer, a family divided over politics, a Jewish tramp, the boy with whom he trades goods, a lesbian, a socialite, a policeman, and a handful of political radicals (both communist and fascist). Its weavings can chart a difficult path to traverse, but the work pays well and is worth every moment of inspection.

Rating:

Check a sample of Berlin: City of Stones via Amazon's Search Inside feature.

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Book: Comic
Author: Jason Lutes
Year: 2008
Pages: 200

As far as middle chapters go, City of Smoke runs pretty much better than expected. Second acts generally fend off some of the energy and presence of the first in order to properly explode into the final act. While maintaining his virtuosity over the form, Lutes does calm things down a bit after the May Day massacre that concluded the first act.

City of Smoke largely explores two themes: the robust nightlife that ruled Berlin's hidden quarters and the growing political strife between factions of the citizenry. And the two societies seem largely oblivious to each other. The night society drowns reality in celebration and excess, while the workaday masses are drowned by concerns for a faulty government, a crashing market, and the evidence of a revolution at hand.

As in the first, journalist Kurt Severing is our guide and it is largely from his perspective that we are probably meant to absorb the story (though not entirely—as his appalling disdain for sweet, sweet jazz marks him as unreliable). It is through Severing, who supports Marxist ideology but refuses to participate in anything more demonstrative than his occasional journalism, that we first discovered the city in the first book, City of Stones; and it is again Severing who provides teetering balance to the ruckus between the night and the day societies.

Lutes, in addition to his mastery of the comic medium, proves himself an excellent student of the human state, capturing intricately the poison that infects us all. Of course he depicts flawlessly the poor, huddled masses as they struggle to stave off starvation and fight for a political hope that will surely disappoint (as political hopes are wont to do), but further, he delivers too the poison that inflames even human joy and celebration. We are given witness to ecstasy and abandon, but realistically, we also are allowed to see the darkness that threatens from the horizon, that in some sense has already leapt into the lives of the happy.

And Lutes does this in such a way that he doesn't come off as depressing so much as he does real. There is a veracity to his work that the reader cannot help but admire. As far as story direction, I didn't like some of his choices for some of his characters. But they were always real choices. And I respect the story for it. And they set up well the story to come.

As a minor critique, there were small moments in this second volume when I felt the usual creator's care diminish. A page here with shaky art. A panel there with a name plainly omitted from the text balloon. On the whole these things did not harm the book for me. But I did notice them.

My only real complaint is now that I have finished Volume II, I've got a good half-decade's wait to see Lutes' conclusion.

Rating:

Check a sample of Berlin: City of Smoke via Amazon's Search Inside feature.

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Notes:
Here are two great interviews with Jason Lutes in regard to Berlin:
• PBS interview
• Comicbook Resources interview

Also, about a year ago, I reviewed another book by Lutes (though he only contributed the writing), Houdini: The Handcuff King.

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20080926.SizeMatters

So here's the thing. The Monk is small. Very small.

It's hard to find clothes that fit her well. She's somewhere between a Size 0 and 00. Most stores don't carry this kind of stuff. We went shopping for clothes the other day and found, well, nothing. Express, The Limited, New york & Co., et cetera. Heck we even stopped by V Generation and found what I can only imagine are whore's clothes. Probably a dead one. That they stripped. And those clothes stripped from a dead woman of easy virtue were cleaned moderately, pressed, and hung on hangers in the mall. I suppose it beats having to make it yourself. I suppose.

In any case, I'm kind of at a loss of where to look next. Any tips?

And no, children's clothing doesn't work. The Monk is tiny, but she has a woman's hips and torso. As well, we're trying to find professional-type clothing (not Hollister-type gear); she's a school teacher and so stuff like black slacks and fitted shirts would be the awesome. You know, something like this.

20080925.TheRoad.Review

Book: Novel
Author: Cormac McCarthy
Year: 2006
Pages: 287

It ended better than it began.

Despite being a very short book, I nearly gave up on The Road circa page ninety. It was, in a word, dull. As in without sheen. Without colour. Without any of that undefinable verve that makes a story interesting.

Sure, there were moments that would hold me. A nice bit of dialogue. The description of a passing forest fire's affect on the macadam road. A quick scene of action and blood-letting. An occasional turn of phrase (this was the first time I'd encountered "her nipples pipeclayed"). But these all were mere punctuations along a rather bland path.

After page ninety things began to pick up and while they never achieved any level of wonder that would keep me from putting the book down for either bed or bath, by the conclusion I was satisfied that I had read a worthwhile book. It's ideas and themes are worth pursuing and so far as post-apocalypse goes it doesn't tend toward cliche.

Plus, the father and son apparently run into Kilgore Trout along the way and give him a can of fruit cocktail and some coffee.

Rating:

Two more excerpts:
Description of the ELE that kills the world
Conversation with Kilgore Trout

20080924.OscarWilde

Okay, you're all lucky. Why? Because I'm introducing you to cool. Cool in the form of Hey Oscar Wilde! It's Clobberin' Time!.

This one guy has an extensive art collection of various comic artists interpreting their favourite literary figure/character/author. There is some pure awesome in there. Here are three that I like, but be sure to check out the real thing.

20080923.NamesInGattaca

Let's talk about Gattaca. Long time readers may be aware that this is among my favourite films. I'm going to be showing it soon to a discussion group and in thinking about it, I was struck by the author's choice of names for its characters.

[note: the following will mean little to those who've not seen the film. and will contain spoilers. so yeah.]

Let's start with the brothers, Vincent and Anton :

Vincent Freeman:
In the scope of the story, Vincent is set against a society that cannot accept him. He is the irresistible force struggling the immovable juggernaut of societal prejudice. Vincent means "conquering" and true to name Vincent spends the movie conquering both the prejudices of his society (embodied most boldly in the person of his brother, Anton) and the inadequacies of his own physical state.

Anton Freeman:
Anton, the product of genetic engineering (as are most in society), is praiseworthy by his very nature as his name implies. Anton means, most readily, "praiseworthy." Anton and Vincent's father (also Anton) acknowledge this when he declares Anton a son worthy of inheriting his name. His family praises Anton for the circumstance of his birth and Anton soaks in the praise, believing himself worthy.

The Brothers Freeman:
Both Vincent and Anton share the surname, Freeman. Where Anton has, in the overt sense, always been the free man (A. Freeman), Vincent spends the movie shackled by the expectations of society. In reality though, it is Anton through society's praise and prejudice who lives to meet expectations, while Vincent conquers all opposition in order to be the first truly free man of his generation.

Irene Cassini:
Irene means "peace" and Cassini is the name of an Italian astronomer. In securing the love and trust of Irene, we see foreshadowed Vincent's success and the fact that he will find peace himself. Further, his success in obtaining Irene Cassini prefigures his success in attaining his ultimate goal, finding peace in space. Vincent conquers societal expectations in order to gain Irene, for after war must come peace.

Jerome Eugene Morrow:
Jerome means "sacred name" and it is through taking on the holy name that Vincent is given the opportunity to succeed, and in succeeding, become something of a representational messiah for his society. Jerome's is the sacred name of the future, of the morrow, and as Vincent takes it, he begins his conquer of the future. Once Jerome's name is taken, he chooses to rely upon his middle name, Eugene. "Of noble birth." His legs crushed and his hope destroyed, he clings to the fact of his birth and the glorious DNA stack that defines him. In the end, with Vincent's success, he recognizes that even a good birth means nothing without the determination to make use of it. While proud of Vincent, he cannot live in Vincent's new world. His death is emblematic of the death knell that Vincent has called out against the society by his success.

One final name, Dr. Lamar:
While Anton, Irene, and Jerome each present threats to Vincent's ultimate victory, it is Dr. Lamar who truly holds power over Vincent. Lamar, depending on origin, may mean either "famous land" or "the water." In this case, Dr. Lamar is he who tends the waters allowing or declining passage into the promised land. He is the God of Judgment in the Gattacan mythology and it is only for his mercy that Vincent is allowed victory and passage to inherit his peace.

20080922

That a new Weezer album is in the works and I'm not excited about it is a strange feeling. I think I just felt betrayed by Red. Maybe Weezer's entering their Starship phase...?

20080919

"Was Jesus in fact a community organizer?" So asks Debi from the Scriptorium. On the face of it, the question means little. I mean, really, who cares what kind of label we give him?

But then there's this whole flash-in-a-pan political hubbub to give the question the colour we need.

Apparently, ill-suited-vice-presidential-hopeful Sarah Palin ruffled feathers by poking fun at Obama's past work as a quote-unquote community leader, saying that her work as a small-town mayor was very similar to that of a community leader, but add in responsibility. The world soon erupted in a towering inferno of bruised feelings and indignation as the nation's actual, living community leaders pretended to be deeply offended and hurt and took things personally. It's a weird world we live in.

To sweeten the deal, those pretending to be offended started saying things like, "Ooh, Palin hates community leaders! That means she hates people like Martin Luther King Jr! And Mother Teresa! She totally hates that old lady! Who's dead. Why would she hate a dead lady? Who's old! And who else... who else? Oh yeah, Palin must think Jesus is a loser too and that her job as small-town mayor was tougher than being Jesus!" That's my synopsis of what has gone on through the internets the last few days.

And this is why, I'm presuming, Debi has asked the question. So then, let's find out, shall we, whether the King of the Universe was also a community leader.

The short answer is no and yes. But short answers are boring.

So then, how is Jesus not a community leader. Well, for one, he did absolutely no social organizing of the greater metropolitan area of Judea. None. Yes, he would help out the poor and heal the sick, but he didn't organize any sort of community works program. He wasn't really seen in any capacity by the culture to be a community leader. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Okay, none of you think I'm kidding. But I'm still not.

What Jesus could be considered by the society around him was a religious teacher. Perhaps even a religious leader. He had his followers, but they weren't concerned with provide social solutions to everyday problems. Really what they were all about was just hearing what Jesus would say next. That's why they were always following him around and asking him questions and wondering what he'd say next. They were pretty straightforward guys, his followers.

So yeah, Jesus was not a community leader in any conventional sense of the term.

He was, however, such a leader according to a very unconventional use. Jesus, would be so intimately involved with his spiritual nation, his heavenly community, that we almost can't help but see him as leader of that community. His concern for social justice within his community. His desire for the welfare of those in his community. His offer of assistance and arbitration on behalf of his community. In fact, so involved is Jesus in this community that we don't even usually stop at calling him a community leader. Instead, we forge on whole-hearted and apply terminology like ruler or lord. Because yeah, that's what we call that level of quote-unquote community leader. We also call it a national leader.

So yeah, while Palin may be entirely unfit to lead our nation, so are her critics in this instance. Which is fine. We can't all be president after all.

Well, in our hearts we can. I know I am.

20080917

I really didn't want to knock my slideshow down so soon after putting it up (after all the work I put into it), but this was just such big news that I couldn't hold back another day! Yours truly has just been brought on as a designer for Barack Obama's campaign. I know, it was unexpected for me too. But when I got the call, really, how could I decline.

In any case, they have a ton of designers working for them so we each get a special niche of the visual campaign to tackle. My task then is to explore the current bumper sticker model and see how we might exploit current designs to bring Obama's message to the subcultures who might not have yet been won over to his inimitable message.

The below gallery highlights a selection of my efforts on The Man's behalf. (Most of these designs have been approved and you should start seeing them on the rear windows of SUVs within the next couple weeks!)

Also, if you haven't taken the time, please enjoy my Americana slideshow below. Which comes with this ringing endorsement from one Wendy Wason: "At least I was exposed to new music."

20080916

So I tried pretty hard to stick to the five posts a week effort. And I mostly succeeded. I missed, I think, twice. Until late last week. I had the idea of putting up a bunch of cool pictures of some of the Americana I drove by on my trip from Orange County to New Mexico and back last June.

That was where the trouble began. Because, see, when I start on a project, I tend to make it far more difficult than I need to. So, what should have taken me maybe an hour or so to put together took quite a bit more than that. In any case, below you'll find my slideshow presentation of my road trip. It's 14MB so you might want to open another tab and read a pile of dinosaur comics or something while it loads. Whatever. hope you enjoy.

20080911

Book: Non-fiction
Author: Erik Larson
Year: 2003
Pages: 447 (390 if you subtract sourcing)

Humour me momentarily and please allow the channeling an eighth grader for just a pinch. OMG Squeee!!1 Teh best!! (Would an eighth grader say "teh best"?) And now we return you to our regularly scheduled review.

I'm not a huge fan of non-fiction. Scratch that. I'm a huge fan of non-fiction, but not so huge a fan of reading non-fiction. While I appreciate learning and broadening my understanding of the world around and as it once was, I find myself pretty quickly distracted from whatever non-fictional work I pick up. The fact is: most writers of non-fiction are more experts in their field of study than they are expert authors. They deliver the goods well, but aren't quite as adept at prettying them up for consumption.

Erik Larson, however, is a genius. Or something. I could not put this book down. (In the figurative sense—it actually took me about two weeks to read.) The entire length of my time in this book was marked with moments of in which I would stop reading, interrupt The Monk from the depths of her studies, and remark again how good this book was.

(I'm sure that she would have been happier had Larson just been your average purveyor of non-fictionalizations.)

In The Devil in the White City, Larson chronicles chiefly a tale of two city-dwellers. Architect, Daniel Burnham and pharmacist, Henry Holmes. One would helm the creation of a wonderland of awe-striking beauty and refinement. The other would become one of America's earliest and most diabolical serial killers. All this against the backdrop of the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition (a.k.a. the Chicago World's Fair).

Daniel Burnham, the self-made architect, who designed the Rookery in Chicago would design the Flatiron Building in New York, assembled a team of the best American architects of the day for the task of crafting a World's Fair in Chicago that would be even more exquisite than the one held in Paris years earlier. The Paris Exposition had also unveiled Gustave Eiffel's incredible tower, so Burnham put a call out to American engineering: something grander would have to be proposed and built. National reputation was at stake as well as civic pride. Larson explores in exciting detail the glories and the tragedies of this great endeavor.

In contrast to this paean to human ingenuity and spirit, Larson focuses the other half of his narrative on a man as diligent in his chosen task as Burnham was in his. H.H. Holmes, the self-style pharmacist, who killed upwards of twenty-seven (mostly young women, fresh to the city), built for himself a hideous parody of the grand buildings that the world would soon celebrate. Bit by bit, he crafted what would later be known as his murder castle, a hotel whose ground floor hosted several businesses and whose other floors would boast far more sinister use. The second and third floors contained numerous rooms and hallways and secret compartments and switches. Airtight rooms with gas outlets. Walk-in vaults purpose not for keeping out but for keeping in. And a slicked chute to the basement where a kiln, acid, and limepits awaited. Holmes was handsome and charming in a way that made him irresistible to women. He was also a psychopath who would turn the American attention far too late.

Larson, as a chronicler, is top notch. He entertains even as he educates. And he leaves just enough narrative tension to compel the reader along his path. Larson knows how to keep enough information back to avoid rendering the latter half of his book naught but excruciating anti-climax. The Devil in the White City is certainly an accomplishment and I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to anyone.

If forced to, I will admit* two quibbles with the book: 1) I was thirsty for more pictures and wanted desperately to see these buildings that Burnham and company were so busied upon; and 2) on the whole Larson keeps his voice clean of any emotive spots not merited by the characters themselves, but there were two moments when I was sure I was hearing Larson's voice beam through (it could have been worse—at least those two moments were funny).

*note: see what I did there? You didn't actually have to force me.

Rating:

20080910

Just for kicks, I designed a hall pass for The Monk's sixth grade class. I've also been reading the completely wonderful The Devil in the White City, which focuses on Chicago's 1893 fair, the World's Columbian Exposition. So, yes, my inspirations are obvious.

I made two passes for her and, of course, each is individually numbered.

20080909

Yesterday, I was curious about Fallout 3 (the new game coming out from Bethesda that has everybody so excited), so I checked it out on Amazon. Looks fun. Post-apocalyptic radiation fun.

But that's not why I'm here and talking to you today.*

While glancing down Amazon's page I came across the products they were recommending based on my evident interest in Fallout 3. One particular game stuck out as I'd been hearing about it for, well, ever. Spore had been The game to look forward to since it was first unveiled at some gameshow or another. And here it was.

With One Star.

Intrigued, I clicked on the link. I had seen that the game was getting only fair ratings across the gaming press, but One Star out of five was something new. Out of 623 reviews, 567 gave the game a single star. (Currently, there are 1523 reviews and 1423 of those are One Star reviews.) And it quickly became obvious why.

DRM.

Digital Rights Management is a thorny issue because companies want to protect their wares from piracy and theft, but their solutions tend to mostly punish their legitimate customers. The particular form that EA uses to protect Spore may be particularly difficult for some legitimate users. EA will only let a user install the game three times before the copy goes dead.

Personally, I as a legitimate user who only plays legitimate games, use this number up for most of my games. Not counting evolving through computers and maybe wanting the ability to play a game on more than one of the computers I own or use, I still install, uninstall, and reinstall any worthwhile game many times over the game's lifetime. I've installed WoW four or five times now. Morrowind five times. Counter-Strike seven. Half-Life closer to eight. Riven about the same. Age of Mythology maybe twelve. The thing is, when I'm done with a game, I typically uninstall it to make room for other programs.

Let's say I really liked Spore. I'd probably reach my limit within the space of a year. EA does allow me the option of calling them, and begging for another install. I have to explain my case—which makes perfect sense in that I, as the legitimate customer, am likely not legitimate but am instead a nefarious copyright infringer.

So then, to explain, customers seem to have organized an online protest of this form of DRM and have carried out this blast on Amazon's review board. I'm not sure how well it's working though. On the Fallout page, 27% of those who had looked into Fallout had then gone on to buy Spore.

But maybe that's all from before the protest began. (Though now that number is up to 34%.) In any case the internet is fun in the way it (as a fake world) shapes and affects the real world.

One other note of interest is the single review of the Spore strategy guide:

Guide is infested with DRM like the game!
Do not buy this guide. I put it on my bookshelf, and it meshed with the other books and re-wrote parts of them. Now I can't read those books correctly. Also, you can only read this guide 3 times, at which point it explodes in your hand. You are then required to call EA and prove to them you bought the guide, and which point they MIGHT send you another one. If you're not convincing enough, you are out-of-luck.

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*note: High fives to those of you who immediately added, "I'm here to tell you about some girls I know... and why I'm being fired."

20080908

As promised in Friday's post (which, if you haven't already, I recommend clicking on the images and investigating the little Flash presentations I prepared to help explain the theory), here are the two samples of that fateful Sunday night's comics-making session. As the kid's were hesitant and embarrassed to even let me see their efforts (most of which were surprisingly inventive!), I didn't really think pressing them to allow me to put their stuff on the internet would be much of a fruitful endeavor. So, with that in mind, the two samples I have are mine and the Monk's. We basically had an hour and a half to do whatever it was we were going to do.

I provided several creative prompts for everyone, just 'cuz coming up with a story idea on the spur of the moment isn't always the easiest task. The Monk chose for her comic the brief plot description: A man jumps off of a pier to escape certain doom. And here is what she came up with!

I thought this was a particularly inventive use of panel framing (the panel shapes are meant to mirror the shape of whatever is victimizing the man in a given panel). Despite complaining that she has no artistic talent (and having difficulty with figuring out how long stick-figure legs should be), The Monk does evidence plenty of creativity. I loved that she applied onomatopoeia to both smelly garbage and hopping over a caterpillar (something tells me she's read a little too much manga!). Especially interesting was the division of the first and last panels in the rectangular row (my favourite being the panel containing nothing but pilings and buzz-saw waves).

For my own comic, I chose from a list of titles and built my comic around that. So then: Road Trip!

About halfway through (while drawing panel four), one of the kids suggested that I have a dinosaur involved, so that's where that came from. If anyone's curious, all along Route 66 (or 40 as I believe it's now known), there are piles upon piles of Americana. In one particular stretch, some entrepreneur decided to use huge, horribly-wrought dinosaurs to hawk his goods. Here is a photo I took of one of them. Probably the most notable thing you can tell from mine is that I don't have a ton of patience. Panels five through eight get increasingly sloppy. And then the final panel was just a big rush because everyone was finishing their work and I figured my time would be better served by examining and complimenting people's work.

20080905

On Sunday evenings, I host this Sunday thing for the high-school-aged at our church. From 6:oo to 9:oo, we spend the evening doing whatever I think would be good for them. Sometimes I'll teach for that whole time. Other times we'll watch a movie or listen to music and discuss how they, as believers should react/interact with such artifacts of pop culture. Sometimes we'll just hang out and maybe run several board games. In short, the liturgy is variable.

Last week we did arts & crafts. Specifically, an introduction to the fine art of making comics.

Knowing I only had a couple of hours to teach and for them to do, we kept it simple and introductory. We mostly focused on the types of transitions artists use to take a reader from one panel to another. Hm, wait. Let me back up. I started by asking three questions.

Question #1: What is comics?
Answer? Well, let's prevaricate here. Comics is such a newborn phenomenon that the language to discuss it is only just beginning to form. Generally speaking, comics uses a series of static images sequentially composed and combine these with text to tell a story. That's the sort of panel-to-panel comic that we're fairly used to seeing. But comics don't necessarily have text. I read an issue of G.I. Joe back in the day ("Silent Interlude") that had no words, and a story told simply with pictures. We also have single panel stories like Dennis the Menace or The Far Side. Nothing sequential about those.

So yeah, our understanding of just what is comics needs a little work still. One thing is for sure though: comics is a medium.

Question #2: What is a medium? A medium is simply one thing that stands between two other things and acts as a vessel of transmission between the two (sometimes in one direction and sometimes in two). In the Old Testament warnings against consulting mediums, the reference is to those who act as an intermediary between the living and the dead. Comics then is a medium—and specifically a medium of communication. Like literature, film, music, painting, oratory, and possibly even videogames, comics seeks to take the communication of its author and transmit that communication as accurately as possible to its reader.

Question #3: What is of primary concern for the communicator? Clarity. Without clarity, the communication is obscured and its meaning lost. Depending on how much clarity an author imparts to his work, that is how close a reader can get to the author's intended message.

We went over all of this with the kids.

Now Scott McCloud, one of comics foremost theorists, divides the goal of clarity into five coherent sections for the would-be comics crafter to attend. We, having limited time, breifly focused on just the first division: the author's Choice of Moment. This concerns which static scenes from the story's events an author will choose to relay. There's really a lot to this and a story can take a different shape depending on what is shown and what is concealed. But as a group, we focused more on the transitions between those static images (for it's often between panels that the interpretive work of comics occurs).

Scott McCloud labels six types of transitions when he speaks of Choice of Moment. I'll describe and show examples of these transition types and then I'll show you the only two samples from the comic-making extravaganza that I currently have available.

1) Moment-to-Moment
Moment-to-moment transitions forces a deliberate pace, encouraging the reader to take special note of the passage of time. By extending a single scene or action over more panels than strictly necessary to convey the action, an author can ratchet up tension in time-sensitive situations (let's say a grenade has been tossed and we're seeing a man jump in slow motion to cover it with his body) or make a scene between to people seem extra awkward by presenting several times in a row the same panel of them sitting in silence (with perhaps minor changes to illustrate broken attempts at conversation) or give us a sense at how dreadfully long something is taking. Here's an example exerpted from Derek Kirk Kim's short story, Same Difference.

2) Action-to-Action
These transitions are perhaps the most common type of transition in American superhero comics. These panels follow a single event or single series of events through the actions that make up the event(s). The following example, from Jeff Smith's Bone illustrates the action of Running for One's Life from Rat Creatures.

3) Subject-to-Subject
Reminiscent of film editing, the subject-to-subject transition follows the directors camera around a scene, shooting everything and editing in only the important parts. An author can use this kind of transition to highlight particular versions of events, giving the reader an otherwise impossible series of vantage points. This example is from Kaoru Mori's Emma and has been adjusted for left-to-right reading for those unfamiliar with reading Japanese graphic texts.

4) Scene-to-Scene
These transition occur frequently across pages, when the action in one scene ends on one page and the action of another scene begins on the following page. Sometimes though and author will break scene one or more times on a page for the sake of his point. Christopher Hick's wonderful adventure, Mister Blank, begins with a montage of its protagonist Sam Smith's work day. Each panel cuts to a different scene: Sam in traffic; Sam being yelled at while clocking in; Sam at his desk; Sam on the coffee break; etc. Hicks captures entirely Sam Smith's work experience in a page of panels. Our example below is from Joe Sacco's non-fiction comic, Palestine, in which he interviews Palestinians and Israelis in regard to Palestinian/Israeli relations.

5) Aspect-to-Aspect
These transitions are diversions from the body narrative and are generally used to give a sense of place or atmosphere. See how Jason Lutes uses this technique to round out this scene from Berlin.

6) Non Sequitur
These are panels that, of course, come out of sequence. If they relate at all to the preceeding panels on the page, there relation is only abstract. It's not a commonly used device as it can be confusing and hinder clarity, but Chris Ware uses the transition to good effect on this page from Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth.

Okay, so here's the thing. That took me longer than I expected to put together so I'm going to save the actual comics we produced on Sunday for Monday. But hopefully, you enjoyed that little lesson. I personally find the theory of comics pretty fascinating stuff.

20080903

My life never ceases to amuse me.

The last month or so, whilst making generous (yet not too generous) use of the office restroom, I started noticing packages of baby wipes. At first they would be found in what we might call the foyer of the restroom, habitating on a countertop opposite the sinks. Next to a fake fern.

While curious, I had no suspicions of nefarious activity. Perhaps someone was mistaking them for wetnaps and their fear of pathogens was such that soap, hot water, and hand sanitizer was not enough to sate their cautioned lives. Or perhaps somebody had brought in and changed a baby yet forgot to remove their aid in such an endeavor. A few weeks later, however, the purpose of said wipes became clear.

It was a warm, summery afternoon. (It being early August, this made much sense.) I had finished a fine lunch of Tokyo Steak and steamed rice and had decided that the best and proper course of action in that moment would be the immediate and grateful relief of my bladder. (A coke goes through me as though I were like unto a sieve.) And behold, a mystery made clear.

In the restroom stall (the handicapped one, for I like to have my room when I am at rest in such a room), scurried away and wedged between wall and handicapped bar was a half-empty package of baby wipes. Now I'm not so much a half-empty kind of guy but the level of dismay this discovery procured brought to life the certainty that this package was indeed half of empty.

The obvious conclusion is that some fellow or other had decided that paper was the way of the ancients and that baby wipes were the only honest way to clean one's anus. Or perhaps these wipes were merely functioning as a poor man's bidet. If the latter be the case, I can at least sympathize for I have long wished to have a bidet of my own—for what greater joy can be conceived that the operation of perfectly clean (and perhaps even well-scented) hindparts.

In any case, thence began my investigatory self. It was no more than a mere glance that told me that any baby wipings were not disposed of in the acceptable receptacle (i.e., the waste basket), for on these days of summer, the office is pretty bare of staff and so refuse is at levels minimal enough that a simple glance can ascertain manner of waste produce. The only other alternatives I could think of are: 1) ziplock bag carried in and out to be disposed elsewhere; 2) flushing; or 3) consumption. *chills* My bet, obviously was on Number Two (ar ar ar). Flushing.

There's just one problem.

The thing is, I do not know if I am man enough to bring up this matter at our Monday staff meeting. The women in the office would be scandalized (even if they practice likewise PMB (the Poorman's Bidet). Much embarrassment would ensue. And I would have to look people in the eye and know what kind of person they are way deep down in the private depths of their souls. And I just don't know if I have the guts or the rights to know that the person sitting next to or across from me in these meeting is, in fact, a baby wiper.

20080902

Book: Non-Fictional Novel
Author: Dave Eggers
Year: 2006
Pages: 473

Apart from a sometimes painfully awkward framing device and a style of writing that is dull enough to actively distance readers from emotionally connecting to the life and pain of one Valentino Achak Deng (a.k.a. Dominic), What Is the What ended up being not half bad. I suppose it was only a third bad.

Or maybe not actually bad. Maybe just one-third Not Great. Which is okay. We can't all be great.

"What is the what?" is a question that Valentino had been asking himself for a long time. Ever since he was Achak. Back before being reintroduced to his Christian name. The story goes: God approached the ancient Dinka, a people pregnant with hope and dignity, and offered them mastery of cattle, the source of life and greatness. That or the What. God never adequately explained the What to the Dinka and the Dinka, having seen UHF and knowing that there was nothing in the box and that box-pickers are so stupid, chose the safe bet. Cattle. And therefore, life and that abundantly. The other people got the What. Which is why apparently they took out their aggressions on the Dinka.

Okay, so that was a very loose paraphrase.

In any case, Valentino is busy wondering what the What could be when some of his Dinka brethren decide to begin a civil war against the northern half of Sudan (which is largely Muslim and Arab). The North is not a fan of this idea and so does its best to extinguish the Dinka (whether they own cattle or not). This started in 1983 or so and went on a good twenty years before stopping only to maybe start up again in the near future. In the end it really only has anything to do with the What if the What happens to be a thirst for money (and preexistent religious incompatibility). But Valentino doesn't know that. He's only six.

Or he is at first. He grows up over the course of the story. While a lot of his companions die, are killed, are kidnapped, or are lost.

Speaking frankly, Sudan has been an unmitigated disaster of country-running pretty much since it gained indepedence from its colonial British overlords. Since the war began in 1983, well over 2 million Dinka were genocidally put to pasture. What little infrastructure the Southern half of the country had thirty years ago is long since evaporated. There is hope for the country, but it's a slender hope. And a tenuous one. By the way, in case you missed it: 2 million.

To be certain, the subject matter of What Is the What is important for a largely ignorant American audience. We react easily, as a nation, to massacres like Columbine or the World Trade Center destruction, but compared to Sudan, these are mere stubbed toes while Sudan features sheared limbs and exposed organs. We should react easily and emotionally to the Columbines and the World Trade Centers, but we should react as well to the other terrors humanity perpetrates upon itself. Since 1999 I've been part of an organization that has worked with and in Southern Sudan (and Uganda and Kenya). I've met Rebecca Garang (wife of John Garang, the guy who essentially started the civil war by rebelling against an oppressive government). I've seen pictures, heard stories, and met those affected immediately by the situation. The story Eggers presents has more than the ring of truth to it. So far as things go, it is true—in that it represents with unflinching veracity the reality of the Sudanese problem.

I only wish it had been better written.

Eggers does not merely tell his story. He offers a framing device. One that does not adequately capture the life of Valentino and occasionally draws one so far out of story that it becomes difficult to reign back in. (I actually put the book down twice in order to read other books, despite having a limited time to complete What Is the What.) The book opens with Valentino being robbed and assaulted and he takes the opportunity over the next day and a half to think his story at his assailants and other non-Sudanese who come into his path. He's a good man and I feel for him, but the narrative trick just didn't work.

On top of this, Eggers' style here is rather lifeless. He's trying to write in the authentic voice of the very real Valentino Achak Deng, but the work suffers for it. The story content is fascinating but its delivery robs it of much of its fire and zest. It's not incompetent writing. It's just not enjoyable. Or interesting.

And that's just a shame.

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