Book Review: We Are Not Strangers by Josh Tuininga

reviewed by Shanna Hollich, retired librarian

Josh Tuininga. We Are Not Strangers: Based on a True Story. Abrams Comicarts, 2023. $24.99 (hardcover). ISBN: 978-1-4197-5994-9. https://www.abramsbooks.com/product/we-are-not-strangers_9781419759949/

Josh Tuininga’s We Are Not Strangers is not getting nearly as much hype as it deserves. Often billed as yet another “touching tale of friendship during World War II” (Kirkus), or a “slice of Seattle history” (Seattle Times), this historical graphic novel delivers much more than a trite tale of being nice to your neighbors, even (perhaps especially) during times of great turmoil.

The story itself is a relatively simple one, and though it is based on a true story from Tuininga’s own family lore, this work is first and foremost one of historical fiction. The tale follows Marco, a Sephardic Jewish immigrant in the Seattle area, as he witnesses the impact of American policies towards Japanese Americans and Japanese immigrants during World War II. In his own quiet way, he works tirelessly to do what he can to help his friend Sam Akiyama, who is about to lose his family home and business. In this way, it is a familiar story of discrimination and its ripple effects throughout an entire community.

What makes this story unique, however, is the meticulous care and attention to detail that Tuininga has demonstrated throughout. The book begins with a foreword from Ken Mochizuki that gives some initial historical context and ends with an extensive Notes and Sources section that includes hand-drawn historical maps of Seattle, detailed descriptions of historical landmarks featured throughout the story, actual newspaper headlines from the time, and a glossary of terms. One of the most satisfying reader experiences I have ever had involved looking through the list and drawings of historical landmarks from the Notes and Sources section and then going back through the actual graphic novel to find where those same landmarks are drawn into the story, often only in backgrounds or scene settings.

This attention to detail in the artwork is perhaps the most satisfying piece of the entire book. One could pore over the pictures on these pages for hours and still find new details to admire. The art is realistic without crossing into the uncanny valley, a perfect dividing line between feeling real enough to drive powerful points home, but still being cartoony enough to allow the reader some degree of self-preserving psychic separation. The chapters tend to jump back and forth between the present and the past, and while this sort of narrative device can sometimes be confusing for readers, the detailed artistic settings and color schemes make it easy for readers to keep their place and bridge the gap between time periods. We can expect no less from Tuininga, who has a solid background in art and design.

This is truly a book for all ages, which makes it a valuable addition to any library (public, school, or personal). Younger children will appreciate looking at the artwork and having a simple understanding of the basic story, while older teens and adults will be able to delve in to more of the nuance and history that lies beneath. An afterword by Devin E. Naar, Professor in Sephardic Studies, sheds light on a particularly interesting and understated aspect of the story: the fact that Marco, while attempting to help fight discrimination against a marginalized community (Japanese immigrants), is himself a member of a marginalized community (a Sephardic Jew and speaker of Ladino). The cross-cultural solidarity on display here is both remarkable in that we see it so rarely in stories like this, but also in that it is not over-dramatized or used purely as a selling point. There are thankfully no “white saviors” here; even Marco provides his help quietly and mostly in the background, never seeking spotlights or accolades, just quietly doing what is right.

Abrams typically delivers a nice physical artifact with its books, and this one is no exception; make sure to remove the dust jacket in order to fully appreciate the illustrative details on the actual hardcover and both front and back endpapers. This book is a welcome addition to a pantheon of graphic novels that portray the experiences of marginalized folks, immigrants, and the history of America during World War II. Don’t sleep on this one.

 A version of this review will appear in the print edition of IJOCA.

Book Review: Cooking with Deadpool

reviewed by 

Lizzy Walker

Wichita State University Libraries

Marc Sumerak, Elena P. Craig, and Ted Thomas. Cooking with Deadpool. San Rafael, California: Insight Editions, 2021. 143 pages, $29.99 978-1683838449 https://insighteditions.com/products/marvel-comics-cooking-with-deadpool

Fandom cookbooks, from comics to movies to video games, have become popular items. Cooking with Deadpool is a great addition to the genre. The book, totaling 63 recipes, contains six sections: Small Bites for Big Mouths; Side Jobs; Maximum Efforts; What the People Really Want; Waking Up with Wade; and Sweetest Things. X-Men’s Cable even has a few recipes in here. Each recipe includes an introduction by Deadpool, which are highly entertaining, as well as provide some history about the Marvel universe, or the dish itself. Other information included with the recipes are serving totals, the occasional helpful tip, and detailed instructions. While Deadpool helps the reader out with handy tips within some recipes, there are more in-depth explanations in Just the Tips, such as folding the perfect chimichanga before popping it into frying oil, making an accurate knife selection for the job, and spatchcocking a chicken. Provided at the end of the cookbook is a menu section that helps the reader combine different recipes to host the perfect meal. Deadpool, also known as Wade Winston Wilson, is the Merc with a Mouth, and Sumerak has a solid grasp on how to write the character, even in a cookbook. Along with the recipes and tips, Deadpool delivers snarky one-liners and casual poses.

As I read through the recipes, something that was refreshing is that all of the ingredients can be found at your local or big box grocery store. This makes the ingredients, and the meals, quite accessible. From creating the shopping list, to preparation and cooking, to serving, everything in here is understandable for the beginning chef and gourmand alike.

The design of the hardcover cookbook is fantastic. It can stand up to kitchen use well. The spine allows for the book to lay flat on a counter or other flat surface. The glossy pages are also easy to clean if anything happens to drip onto them in the preparation of the delicious recipes.

A Review of Selected Recipes (photos by Lizzy Walker)

Ya Basic Chimi: This one was easy to prep, except for folding the chimichangas. Even with the detailed instructions, toward the end steps of the process I couldn't get the wrap to cooperate. This could be because I can't even do origami well, or there is a step missed in the instructions. Regardless, with the aid of some well-placed toothpicks to keep them sealed, frying them up was easy. Accompanied with homemade salsa, these chimis were more than basic.  

Pool-tine: I have to admit, I used a tip provided by Deadpool and used frozen steak fries instead of making my own. The gravy was delightful, and the instructions were clear and easy to follow. Combining the flavor of the steak fries, cheese curds, and gravy was the perfect meal after a long day. This one will become a staple in my household.

Smells Like Victory: Combining two different pancake flavors is a brilliant idea. In this case, it was chocolate and malted milk pancakes. I did omit the malt powder, since I didn’t have any on hand. The chocolate batter cooked a bit faster and the pancakes came out thinner than the plain pancakes, but the texture and flavor were great together.

With relatively simple to make recipes, Deadpool’s witty remarks, and special appearances by Cable, Cooking with Deadpool would make an excellent addition to a cookbook collection. The creative team behind this cookbook is great. Marc Sumerak is a Harvey- and Eisner Award nominated comic writer, and he earned his BFA in Creative Writing at Bowling Green State University. Between writing and editing comics, his body of work is impressive. Elena P. Craig is a food stylist and cookbook developer working in the field for over 25 years and she enjoys telling food stories. Ted Thomas provided the beautiful photography that accompanies the recipes.

PR: CALL FOR ENTRIES: The 2024 Rex Babin Memorial Award

A PSA.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

CALL FOR ENTRIES: The 2024 Rex Babin Memorial Award for Excellence in Local Cartooning

SACRAMENTO, CA — The Association of American Editorial Cartoonists has long championed those who work for small and local newspapers, and once again in 2024 the AAEC is looking for the best in political cartooning. The Rex Babin Memorial Award for Excellence in Local Cartooning (named after the late Sacramento cartoonist) focuses on state and local editorial cartoons, an issue of great importance to Babin during his lifetime.

While his work was syndicated nationally, Rex Babin was a strong believer in the power of editorial cartoons to have real influence at the local level. As the cartoonist for daily newspapers in two different state capitals, he saw how effective satire could sometimes be when directed at targets across the street. His unique drawing style stood out among the work of his peers, and his fellow cartoonists elected him President of the AAEC in 2009. 

"Rex Babin was one of the foremost practitioners of the local cartoon" said Jack Ohman, Babin's long-time friend and current AAEC President, "and the AAEC once again honors Rex and his work with this Award."

This year's judges includes previous recipients Matt Davies, Steve Stegelin and Joel Pett. This year's award will be presented during the AAEC joint convention with their Canadian counterparts in Montreal in October.

The deadline to enter is Friday, August 23, 2024.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + 

The Rex Babin Memorial Award for Excellence in Local Cartooning — Rules & Eligibility

• Any editorial cartoonist or graphic journalist who comments on or covers local, state or provincial events in the U.S., Canada or Mexico is eligible to enter; membership in the AAEC or ACC is not required. 

• Please submit ten cartoons and a 150 word statement from the artist about their work and its impact. 

• Cartoons must have been published between July 2023 and June 2024.   

• Cartoons should be in a 300dpi jpeg format, and emailed to rexbabinaward@gmail.com. 

• There is no entry fee.

• The judging criteria are: 

  1) Cartoons on a local or state subject that have a strong political or social impact; 

  2) Excellence in draftsmanship and ideas.

The deadline to enter is Friday, August 23, 2024.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + 

For more information on the award, contact Matt Davies at Matthew.Davies@newsday.com. For more information on the AAEC, go to editorialcartoonists.com.

Book Review: Burning Down the House: Latin American Comics in the 21st Century.

 

reviewed by Maite Urcaregui

Laura Cristina Fernández, Amadeo Gándolfo, and Pablo Turnes, eds. 2023. Burning Down the House: Latin American Comics in the 21^st Century. New York: Routledge, 2023.  https://www.routledge.com/Burning-Down-the-House-Latin-American-Comics-in-the-21st-Century/CristinaFernandez-Gandolfo-Turnes/p/book/9781032148311 

Laura Cristina Fernández, Amadeo Gándolfo, and Pablo Turnes’ Burning Down the House: Latin American Comics in the 21^st Century (2023) is a welcome and worthy addition to the study of the “complex and multiple universe” of contemporary Latin American comics (Fernández et al., 2023: 1). The expansive collection includes thirteen chapters by fourteen contributors that discuss comics from Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, México, Perú, Uruguay, and Spain. The editors recognize the difficulty, or what they call the “particular conundrum,” of writing about Latin America, which comprises many different national and cultural contexts (Fernández et al., 2023: 2). As they say, “while most Latin American countries have experienced similar political and economic processes, these have been filtered by the particular characteristics, history, social qualities and economic realities of each country” (Fernández et al., 2023: 2). The editors’ introduction thus begins by reviewing the similar and particular political and economic realities of Latin America in the late 20^th and early 21^st century: the failures of neoliberal governments in the 1990s and early 2000s; the rise of the “pink tide” of populist Leftist governments between 2002 and 2015; and the contemporary turn to centrist, right-wing, and alt-right governments. These political pendulum swings have coincided with various economic crise--from austerity measures to overspending to the neocolonial influence of the Global North--which have in turn exacerbated social inequalities and unrest.

“How does this political and economic process impact our topic: comics?” the editors ask (Fernández et al., 2023: 5). Well, in response, Latin American comics have proliferated, a growth that “often clashes with the economic reality of Latin American graphic production, made within an increasingly precarious context” (Fernández et al., 2023: 5). Fernández, Gándolfo, and Turnes further describe this growth, saying:

Twenty-first-century Latin American comics are deeply plural in its inspirations, subjects, drawing styles, political/social concerns and formats. At the same time, its evolution in this century has been marked by the emergence of three phenomena, often articulated with each other: the Internet as a means of publication and publicity; the graphic novel as a privileged format and organizer of the narrative; and, finally, the inclusion of the comic in state-supported cultural and educational projects (Fernández et al., 2023: 5).

With these three phenomena front of mind, the collection offers vital insights about the development of Latin American comics that speak to the evolution of comics in the 21^st century more broadly. Comics have long been intertwined with the construction of national identity, for better or worse, and the rise of the graphic novel in the latter half of the 20th century and the Internet at the turn of the 21^st century has drastically changed comics at the levels of form, content, production, and circulation. It is this attention to how comics respond to political and economic changes that makes Burning Down the House essential reading for all comics scholars

Burning Down the House is split into two sections that focus on “two main axes: politics, protests and memories on the one hand and gender and sexual dissidences on the other” (Fernández et al., 2023: 1). Part One: Politics, protest and memory “concerns itself with the different ways in which comics and graphic novels have dealt with the Latin American past, with the remembrance of lost struggles toward social justice and with newer processes of social protest which are reshaping the political landscape of our continent” (Fernández et al., 2023: 11). Contributor Hugo Hinojosa Lobos perhaps best sums this up when he describes “the clash between a discourse from history and another articulated from memory,” in his chapter on social protest comics in response to Chile’s 2019 “social outburst” (Hinojosa Lobos, 2023: 120). Chilean comics artists, Hinojosa Lobos argues, created a visual archive of the social outburst that acted as “a historical document and a testimony of a collective memory,” one that challenged official national narratives (Hinojosa Lobos, 2023: 129). Comics as a form of collective memory is a through-line that connects the chapters in Part One, especially Laura Nallely Hernández Nieto’s chapter on how comics remember the 1971 and 2012 student movements in México and Elena Masarah Revuelta and Gerardo Vilches Fuentes’ comparative analysis of the politics of memory in Chilean and Spanish comics that depict dictatorship. Another important contribution of Part One is its attention to histories of enslavement, anti-Blackness, and Black liberation in Latin America--histories that often get White-washed or erased under the colonial framework of mestizaje. Both Marilda Lopes Pinheiro Queluz’s chapter “Between comics and memories, other stories of Brazil” and Ivan Lima Gomes’ chapter “Black visualities in Brazilian comics: a historical overview” take up Afro-Brazilian comic artist Marcelo D’Salete’s Angola Janga (2017), a graphic novel about the establishment of the “Quilombo dos Palamares,” one of the largest Maroon settlements of formerly enslaved peoples in seventeenth-century Brazil. Lima Gomes’ chapter offers an especially powerful analysis of how Afro-Brazilian comics artists draw on “the potency of Black visual culture in comics” to resist historical erasure and to picture the complexities of Black life and liberation on the page (Lima Gomes, 2023; 115).

Part Two: Genre and sexual dissidence “deals with the way comics and graphic novels in Latin America have incorporated the demands for more diversity, for female and sexually diverse authors and for a representation in which they are present” (Fernández et al., 2023: 13). Jorge Sánchez’s chapter on Argentinian artist Nacha Vollenweider’s Notas al pie (2017) and Chilean artist Vicho Plaza’s Las sinventuras de Jaime Pardo (2013) problematizes the disembodied, authoritative narrator that has dominated documentary comics and comics criticism. As Sánchez argues, the discontinuous temporalities of migration and memory represented in these comics fundamentally “affect the presented bodies, turning them into precarious witnesses” (Sánchez, 2023: 151). Sánchez’s chapter significantly contributes to and complicates understandings of graphic embodiment and visual witnessing, two areas of scholarship that have surged since Hillary Chute’s influential work in Graphic Women (2010) and Disaster Drawn (2016). Janek Scholz examines the possibilities and failures of comic artivismo in the face of “the vulnerability of the trans community, above all for trans women of color and for elderly trans people” (Sánchez, 2023: 215), in a chapter that builds on Darieck Scott and Ramzi Fawaz’s formulation of comics as “as queer orientation devices” (Scott and Fawaz, 2018: 203). Jasmin Wrobel’s chapter, which traces a genealogy of “comics made by women and developed in the Peruvian fanzine circuit,” is one of my favorites in this section and will leave you with a rich reading list. Marcella Murillo’s chapter crucially critiques the misrepresentation of Chola (mixed race Indigenous women) mothers, daughters, and heroines in Bolivian theatre and comics. As Murillo argues, male and non-Indigenous creators often create fictional Chola characters are that conform to the nationalist project of mestizaje and contribute to marginalization of real Chola populations. Overall, the collection’s attention to multiple forms of difference and dissidence—gendered, sexual, and ethnoracial—resists the mythology of mestizaje and privileges perspectives that have often been marginalized within Latinidad.

Laura Cristina Fernández, Amadeo Gándolfo, and Pablo Turnes’ Burning Down the House: Latin American Comics in the 21^st Century is an ambitious collection, not only in its geographic and cultural scope but also in its central claims and contributions. The chapters speak to the shared histories of (neo)colonialism, imperialism, colorism, racism, neoliberalism, and political repression and resistance that shape Latin America while discussing the countries, cultures, and comics at hand with incredible detail, nuance, and specificity. Speaking to some of these connections in their introduction, the editors, citing Waldo Ansaldi and Verónica Giordano, understand Latin America “as a totality” that “is really composed of many diversities” (Ansaldi & Giordano, 2012: 25; Fernández et al., 2023: 3). In many ways, that is just what they have created in their collection, a body of scholarship through which we might begin to approach the totality of Latin American comics and unravel the many diversities therein.

References

Ansaldi, Waldo, and Verónica Giordano. 2012. América Latina: La construcción del orden Vol. 1. Buenos Aires: Ariel.

Fernández, Laura Cristina; Amadeo Gándolfo, Amadeo; and Pablo Turnes, eds. 2023. Burning Down the House: Latin American Comics in the 21^st Century. New York: Routledge.

Scott, Darieck, and Ramzi Fawaz. 2018. “Queer about Comics.” American Literature. 90 (2): 197-219.

 

Maite Urcaregui (she/they) is an Assistant Professor of English and Comparative Literature at San José State University. Her research and teaching explore Latinx and multiethnic American literatures and comics through feminist, queer, and critical race theories and histories. She is co-editor, with Fernanda Díaz-Basteris, of Latinx Comics Studies: Critical and Creative Crossings, forthcoming from Rutgers University Press.

Book review: Robert Williams: Conversations, ed. by Joseph R. Givens and Darius A. Spieth

 reviewed by John A. Lent

Joseph R. Givens and Darius A. Spieth, eds. Robert Williams:  Conversations. Jackson, MS:  University Press of Mississippi, 2023. 183 pp. US $25.00 (Paperback). ISBN:  978-1-4968-4403-3. https://www.upress.state.ms.us/Books/R/Robert-Williams

 

Robert Williams makes for a fascinating interviewee, with his vast knowledge on an assortment of subjects, his unwavering opinions, and his ability to take a conversation afar--strengthening it with variants of the word “fuck” and punctuating it with some wicked humor--and then return it to the question posed with an erudite answer. He is capable of playing havoc with the established protocol and schema of interviewing, and does, to good effect.

These traits are evident in the 15 interviews with Williams that Joseph R. Givens and Darius A. Spieth pulled together, spanning the period from 1987 to 2015. The first interview, conducted by Paul Gravett, appeared in the tenth number of his Escape. Among other interviewers were the actor Nicolas Cage and the tattoo specialist, Jonathan Shaw. A sixteenth interview of Greg Escalante, promoter of lowbrow art and Williams, was made by the editors. Eighteen images are scattered throughout the book, and a very useful chronology of Williams’ life is provided.

Each interview introduces different aspects of Williams’ life and career, though duplication is to be expected, especially when interviews commence with, “Let’s start at the beginning.” In this set of interviews, when Williams received such a request, he answered that he was born in Albuquerque in 1943, on a cold and rainy morning. In her interview with Williams, Michelle Delio followed up with a jocular, “And then what happened?” to which he answered, “Well, my parents got married and divorced about four or five times.” To another interviewer, he claimed vaguely recalling that he did not want to emerge from his mother’s womb. The unexpected can be expected of Williams, an example being when Delio was about to conclude their conversation and asked, “Anything else we should talk about?” “Women’s asses,” Williams retorted, and then launched into a spiel on “whether a “woman’s ass is a temple of God or merely an object of beauty?”

In a number of the interviews, Williams reflects on his youth--moving about with his military father, not doing well in school, getting into trouble with the police as a gang member, his absorptive interest in hot rod cars and girls, and his being fired from one job after another until he was hired by Ed “Big Daddy” Roth in 1965 He also spends considerable time discussing his introduction to underground comix, joining the Zap collective in 1969, and drawing a cover for Yellow Dog in 1970, how his and other underground artists’ “asses were up for grabs” with the police, and how the underground bridged the gap between his fine art and comics.

Williams minces no words about his feelings towards many aesthetic principles and the work churned out in the name of art. He refers to himself as a “counter aesthetician” and carries a business card inscribed with, “Fouling the Art World’s Nest since 1957.” About many contemporary artists, he said, “You’ve got all these fuckin’ flash geniuses, but they are not going to hold up posthumously. There again, I’m not interested in posthumous success. I want to live now, and after that, I really just don’t give a shit.” At other times, he has compared the art world to a “locked matrix of economics and people trying to get involved,” lamented that he has had difficulty getting into galleries, while his artwork “sells like crazy,” and told his British interviewer that England’s art “seems very constipated.”

Two events that came up more than once in the interviews were his painting of the cover of “Appetite for Destruction” for the rock band, “Guns N’ Roses,” and his participation in 1992, in the “Helter Skelter” exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles. Both caused Williams considerable consternation, while vaulting him to “the rank of a figure of public notoriety.” “Appetite for Destruction,” sometimes interpreted as a secret rape fantasy, met much protest from feminist groups and others, resulting in the record company replacing the original cover and moving Williams’ painting to an inside sleeve. Williams was hesitant to do the cover when first approached by the then little-known band in 1979 and finally relented in 1987. The album became the best-selling debut album in the U.S. and sold more than 30 million copies worldwide. Williams received a few hundred dollars.

The “Helter Skelter” exhibition allocated a room for the display of Williams’ paintings. A large canvas titled, “Oscar Wilde in Leadville, April 13, 1882,” meant to be an homage to the famous writer whom Williams admires, was misinterpreted as a slur about Wilde’s homosexuality, leading to the gay and feminist communities picketing him on the night of the opening.

In other chapters, Williams chatted with Jonathan Shaw about tattooing; about beatniks, the abstract movement, surrealism, and the “Zombie Mystery Paintings,” with Donald M. Bailey and Long Gone John; his being an “esthetician of the preposterous” by Delio; movies, virtual reality, and hot rods with Cage; cartoon surrealism and Williams’ “new work” with Carlo McCormick; Roth with Gwynned Vitello; his sculptures with Kenny Scharf; Williams as the “master of the slang aesthetic” with Jeffrey Deitch, and his paintings as very “kitsch to an abstract level” with Chris Campion.

Robert Williams:  Conversations is a vault of rich data and opinions, on a wide scattering of topics, and presented in everyday discourse, fit for casual reading and serios contemplation. Highly recommended.

Book review: Comics and Modernism: History, Form, and Culture ed, by Jonathan Najarian

 
reviewed by John A. Lent

Jonathan Najarian, ed. Comics and Modernism:  History, Form, and Culture. Jackson, MS:  University Press of Mississippi, 2024. 336 pp. US $30.00 (Paperback). ISBN:  978-1-4968-4958-8. https://www.upress.state.ms.us/Books/C/Comics-and-Modernism

 

Jonathan Najarian (Colgate University) has drawn together the thoughts of fourteen researchers (counting himself) about the overlap between comics and literary and artistic modernism. In his introduction, Najarian points out that Comics and Modernism… results from the concurrent developments of new modernist studies and comics studies. He explains that the new modernish studies were ushered in “by revaluations of the modernist canon and directed scholars to new avenues of exploration,” specifying the vertical (“high” and “low” art) and horizontal or spatial (across geographical regions) (p. 6). The tearing down of the concrete wall that separated high and low art was helped along by factors, such as the recognition of the importance to art of magazines (including comics) and books, the fondness for, and imitation of, comics by “fine” artists, such as Picasso, e. e. cummings, and T.S. Eliot, and the artistic refinement that is found in comics by the likes of George Herriman, Winsor McCay, and Lyonel Feininger.

Najarian’s treatment of comics scholarship could use some re-adjustments. He claims “before roughly the 2000,” there were a “few niche scholars” (e.g., Tom Inge and Joseph Witek, both tucked away in a footnote, and Bill Blackbeard, who is identified as having “no academic affiliation”), completely ignoring the many young researchers who were presenting astute papers at International Comic Art Forum, Popular Culture Association, or the International Association of Mass Communication Research, and publishing in Inks and the University Press of Mississippi series. Granted that comics studies exploded in the past quarter century, but to attribute this growth solely to Art Spiegelman, Françoise Mouly, and Hillary Chute is completely unfounded.

Comics and Modernism… is organized somewhat chronologically into four parts, starting with early 20^th Century newspaper funnies and progressing to contemporary comics:  “Modernism and Comics,” “Print, Ephemera, Circulation,” “Pop/Art:  Comics Low and High,” and “Comics as Modernism.” The chapters provide a rich blend of theory, particularly that of “Entanglements of Style:  The Uniqueness of Modernism in Comics,” by Glenn Willmott; history, those by Katherine Roeder on the Armory Show of 1913, Winsor McCay by Noa Saunders, “Krazy Kat” by David M. Ball, and “Torchy Brown” by Clémence Sfadi, and a hefty assortment of approaches and techniques used to explain modernism and comics.

While all of the essays are well done, those that this review found to be most interesting, because they present new topics, are:  Roeder’s “Modernism for the Masses:  The Armory Show in Comics”; Jean Lee Cole’s “Four Repulsive Women:  Marjorie Organ, Nell Brinkley, Kate Carew, Djuna Barnes,” and Nick Sturm’s “‘Our First Literature’:  The Poetics Underground of Joe Brainard’s New York School Comics.”

The Armory Show introduced Americans to European avant-garde art (especially to cubism), which used visual strategies cartoonists had deployed for years, such as motion lines. American cartoonists had much fun mocking the modern art. But, as Roeder makes clear, their mockeries “brought modernist ideas and sensibilities directly into people’s homes…thereby casually introducing them to abstraction with a wink and a nod” (p. 45).

Cole shows how the cartoons of Organ, Brinkley, Carew, and Barnes, published at the beginning of the 20^th Century, transgressed both Victorian femininity and feminine print culture and forced them to express “vivid and perhaps even repulsive truths about women’s place and experience in modernity” (p. 109), thus, subjecting themselves to indignities and assaults. Except for Brinkley, whose career was captured in print by Trina Robbins, the other three women, until now, had not made it even to a footnote in the histories of journalism and comics.

Also absent from comics scholarship is Joe Brainard, his C Comics, “composed mostly of comics made in collaboration with poets” (p. 207), and his dozen-plus strips in the underground East Village Other. While exploring Brainard’s relatively-unknown work, Sturm concludes that, “some of the most aesthetically-suggestive and ambitiously multimodal work has been done not in book-length comics but in little magazines and periodicals that circulated among local groups of artists and poets” (pp. 221-222).

Though not pointed out by the editor, this volume is limited to comics and modernism in the U.S., which is acceptable, but should be acknowledged. Modernism has been interlocked with comics in parts of Europe, no doubt, Japan, and perhaps, other parts of the world, and, hopefully, will merit additional scholarship.

Comics and Modernism… is a comprehensive and readable account of various dimensions of the subject that answers many questions, while bringing up others, that will keep the subject on a front burner. It is highly recommended.