Edward Sorel. Profusely Illustrated, A Memoir. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2021. 272 pp. US $30.00. ISBN 978-0-5255-2106-8.
In this delightful memoir of his life and career, Edward Sorel writes as facilely, matter-of-factly, and scathingly as he draws, whether he is putting down societal scoundrels with doses of venom measured by their “scoundrelness,” berating the formularistic instruction of formal art institutions in favor of naturalness, or telling it as he saw it, not mincing any words, for example, how the “Darth Vader from Australia,” Rupert Murdoch, “stole” New York magazine and The Village Voice.
Befitting a political cartoonist, Sorel was at his best when he skewered government and its honchos. In these pages, he provides a “report card” on all presidents from Franklin D. Roosevelt through Donald J. Trump, none of whom was blemishless, one, Trump, perhaps, meriting an “F”; another, Barack Obama, maybe a “C+.” The grading was not haphazard, off the top of his head, but was based on data not commonly known when the events occurred nor now.
Profusely
Illustrated is that, decorated with 177 drawings,
cartoons, and caricatures, crafted in Sorel’s trademark style of bright colors,
on-the-mark (but exaggerated) likenesses of characters, and hilarious themes,
such as Nixon tangoing with Mao under a sickled quarter moon with Kissinger
playing an accordion, Condoleezza Rice as Pandora, opening the box and letting
out all United States enemies, or Moses as a dog holding the ten commandments
before a bunch of fellow dogs, howling, “heel,” “paw,” “stay,” “lie,” “fetch,”
and so on. This rich trove of exquisite art, acid commentary, and useful
information also included numerous Sorel-conceived New Yorker covers,
featuring Whistler’s mother forlornly waiting for her son to call on Mother’s
Day, or “Summer School for Bugs” with the teacher cricket showing student
beetles and insects the most delicious leaves, or six periods of Martin Luther
King, Jr.’s life. And, there are the large composite sketches of “Autumn in New
York” or “The Second Sunday in May” and other everyday scenes, with settings of
urban neighborhoods where pictured people on the street, in restaurants,
apartments, and passing cars are talking to each other on 
whatever comes to
mind. Sorel’s strips, ranging from a couple to as many as nine panels, black
and white and wavy in style, usually took on the artist’s meandering thoughts,
musings about “what if?” and enjoyable and frightening moments of his life. One
eight-panel strip entitled, “How I Lost My Job and Found Happiness,” relates
the harrowing experience he had after leaving a gathering with his boss that he
felt unwelcomed at, and on his way home, discovering that he had taken the
boss’s coat by mistake. Figuring he had lost his job, he then decided to be a
freelancer the rest of his life, to keep his own hours, and take naps with his
wife, also a freelancer. The final panel shows the couple comfortably snoozing.
Sorel writes with candor and frankness, relating how his Romanian grandmother fled World War I bullets, with her five daughters in tow and bags of sugar for bartering, to settle in Vienna; his dislike (rather, hatred) of his father; his drawing of pictures on laundry cardboard used to keep shirts stiffened while he was bedridden at age seven; his first job at an advertising agency from which he was fired after three weeks, and his first marriage which ended when he found (actually heard) his wife in bed with his friend. He writes endearingly about his second wife, Nancy, who gave him the “happiest” years of his life.
With
a knack of writing that makes the reader feel as if he/she and the painter are
chatting over a drink, Sorel, at times, is self-deprecating, other times,
reflective, trying to figure out his motives for doing things decades before.
In this conversational tone, Sorel occasionally goes off track, telling the
reader, “hold that thought; I’ll get back to it later,” which he does, or
saying, “I think I’ll end there,” and then relating in detail what he should
have told.
This is a magnificent read and “viewing,” for anyone who enjoys storytelling at its best, full of chit-chat, bits of gossip, much factual information, personal tidbits, and humongous amounts of satire, put-downs, parody, and humor. Pull up a chair and enjoy.
John A. Lent is founding publisher and editor-in-chief of International Journal of Comic Art.
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