Ian Gordon remembers David Kunzle

David Kunzle  (April 17, 1936 – January 1, 2024) 

by Ian Gordon

 

Vale David Kunzle. I received the news from Roger Sabin when I was in London in early January. As it happened I was at Cambridge, his undergraduate university, the day before I heard and on my return to London walked pass his doctoral home at the Courtauld Institute of Art. 

 

David was a formative influence on my work. Like many comics fans at the time I first encountered David through his 1974 introduction to and translation of Ariel Dorfman and Armand Mattelart’s How to Read Donald Duck. The red-hot prose of that work is best understood as a visceral reaction to the vicious Pinochet regime and the comics analyzed had been altered by the Chilean publishers who were not sympathetic to the Allende socialist government. But my engagement with David’s work only came later. In 1989 I decided to do my doctoral dissertation on comic strips. In that same year the University of California Press announced the forthcoming publication of the second volume of his The History of the Comic Strip and I sought a venue to review it since at $110 it was beyond my graduate student budget. Michael Kazin at Tikkun, who I had met at the Smithsonian, said no, but suggested the American Quarterly. At first Charles Bassett, then the book review editor, said no but after he received a volume from the University Press of Mississippi, Joseph (Rusty) Witek’s Comic Books as History: The Narrative Art of Jack Jackson, Art Spiegelman, and Harvey Pekar, he said yes provided I did a combined review. Somewhat miffed that this fellow Witek had used a version of the title I wanted for my dissertation I said yes. In preparation while waiting for Volume 2, which only came out in mid 1990, I studied Volume 1 closely after previously only having given it a cursory read. I remember this well because I was traveling home to Australia and borrowed a copy from the University of Sydney library and read about a third, lugging it between Sydney and Melbourne and back again. Returning to the USA I spent a week or so in Los Angeles at my grad school friend Charles Shindo’s family home and he borrowed a copy from his alma mater, USC, and I may have even read some of it on the beach. Finally, back in Washington, DC I finished Volume 1 at the Library of Congress and moved to Volume 2 that I had by then received. The review duly appeared in American Quarterly.[1] After completing the review essay I begun the research for my dissertation. In many ways my approach to studying comics was shaped through this review essay. I wanted to use Kunzle’s methods to study American comics and was too sharp with Rusty’s work for not doing quite what I wanted it to do. Stressing the merits of Kunzle I neglected the merits of Witek, something that I later addressed.[2] 

 

Of Kunzle’s work I had this to say in the American Quarterly: 

 

Kunzle's first volume History of the Comic Strip: Vol. 1, The Early Comic Strip, published in 1973, contained an account of the crucial transformation in graphic narrative in late eighteenth century England; "the stylistic revolution in popular graphic art known as caricature" (Kunzie, Berkeley, 1973, 1). Kunzie demonstrated that before Hogarth introduced a comic element in graphic narrative during the eighteenth century, it was primarily concerned with religious, moral, and political themes of a didactic or propagandistic nature. The narrative in Hogarth's panels was also easier to follow than in earlier, more static, graphic narrative. But Hogarth was no caricaturist. Nor did he use speech balloons, contrary to the view held by many comic art historians.' Caricature, a method of capturing a person's essential character by the exaggeration of features in a loose line drawing, entered the public realm of European art late in the eighteenth century. It lent itself to political commentary and to a new style of narrative fiction: the comic strip. Rodolphe Topffer (1799-1846) undertook the first sustained work in the new medium of the comic strip, and History of the Comic Strip: Vol. 2, The Nineteenth Century opens with a discussion of his work.  

 

Kunzie argues that Topffer and those who followed him, most notably Cham (Charles-Henri-Amedee de Noe), Leonce Petit, Adolphe Willette, and Wilhelm Busch, effected a profound change in graphic narrative. They produced comic strips that aimed to entertain. The works presented not the facile comic strip offerings one so often encounters in the late twentieth century, but extended tales, gathered in albums, that addressed the emerging bourgeois order of Europe. For instance, between 1830 and 1846, Topffer lampooned the pretensions of the petite bourgeoisie on the make, parodied scientific research, and in his final work, derided would-be revolutionists. To tell these stories, Topffer and the others developed new graphic narrative techniques. These included dried pen etching and stunning montage sequences in which the images cut back and forth between protagonists, or ranged over movement through time and space. Kunzle's detailed account of the European development of the comic strip is relevant to an American Studies audience because despite the unique and "specifically American humorous tradition" displayed in early American comic strips (5), their form, and indeed their content, owed much to the earlier European work.  (242-243).  

 

And, “David Kunzle's History sets a standard for discussion and analysis of the comic art form. He not only recounts the technical and stylistic development of the form but sets it within the cultural matrix of nineteenth century Europe." (246)

 

For good measure I should note that I saw Rusty’s work positing something that indeed happened and he was ahead of the curve in seeing that possibility and explaining the way it took shape, “Witek's book raises the possibility that comic books may transcend their formulaic nature and produce a new literary medium." (246)

 

Having finished his second volume David seemed to balk at doing the third volume that he had originally intended. In May 1992 he wrote to the art historian Rebecca Zurier had received a Swann Foundation fellowship for her work on the Ashcan School. He proposed a collaboration on a third volume that would run from 1896 to Krazy Kat stopping short of the adventure strips of the 1930s. Given her path to tenure as an art historian had been mapped out for her in discussions with her Department Zurier could not take up Kunzle’s offer, and she directed him to me. In 1992 just as I was wrapping up my dissertation, I received a letter from Kunzle (see below). Busy with meeting the demand from the graduate Dean of my university that all 200 figures appear in portrait form with full captions, rather than a mix of portrait and landscape, and then with defending the dissertation I did not reply until October. To say I was flattered was an understatement. I was flabbergasted that Kunzle had contacted me and proposed such a collaboration. I of course said yes. So where is that third volume? I said yes conditionally since I wanted to get some publications out before turning to that collaboration. I also hoped to stay in America and was able to do so through some employment at the Smithsonian allowed as gaining work experience under my F1 visa. David replied and we agreed to meet in Los Angeles in 1993 to discuss the volume. I sent him my dissertation.  

 

In 1993 he graciously collected me at the LA train station and we and his wife Marjoyre had dinner at their UCLA house. I remember the dinner because at one point David excused himself and returned with a rapier and told me about his performance with an Elizabethan troupe. I was unsure if I should engage him with the fork I was using to eat pasta. I am not sure if it was that evening, or perhaps in a letter that I no longer have, that David responded to my dissertation with the comment “was it as bad as that” meaning the mass commodification of comic art in the American comic strip. I now wonder if perhaps he was also asking me to think a little more about comic art that had not been so drastically commodified and perhaps expand my vision from the very real role comics played in shaping consumer culture.  

 

By this stage though I had decided to return to Australia since long term work was not presenting itself in America. I am not sure exactly what David and I decided on the proposed collaboration or indeed if we decided anything. Perhaps it disappeared as other priorities and the passage of time took us further away from the project. From a letter from Martin Barker sometime in mid to late 1993 I do know that David had been speaking with him to about the project. But as Martin suggested I think David was not as engaged with Volume 3 as he had other work he wanted to do.

In the last ten years or so other scholars have filled some of the gaps left by the absence of a third volume. Beyond my own initial attempts to place comics in a broader development of twentieth century American culture Christina Meyer’s Producing Mass Entertainment, Lara Saguisag’s Incorrigibles and Innocents, and Alex Beringer’s Lost Literacies are all invaluable works that should be read in the absence of that volume. One can hope for many more works like these to plug the gaps. 

 

Many non-academic readers with an interest in understanding the history of comics have appreciated Kunzle’s work. But that was not always the case. For instance, when I visited Bill Blackbeard in 1991 he dismissed David’s work as simply reproducing every early image he could find and not worth attention. His influence on others was perhaps pernicious since Bob Beerbohm, now very much a fan of the work, told me he had been put off by Blackbeard’s comments. I can only surmise that Blackbeard’s view was colored by a desire to claim comic strips as a uniquely American form and David’s work demonstrating long antecedents of commercial graphic work (and not fanciful connections like hieroglyphics) upset that apple cart. On the scholarly front David was aware of Donald Ault and I do wonder if they discussed Disney. 

 

David Kunzle encouraged my work especially in the early years when I was trying to make a career. Other scholars like the Australian historian Richard Scully and the British historian Patrick Hagopian, to whom David sent photo documentation of his anti-Vietnam war posters, have mentioned David’s kindness. I was very happy to meet David again in 2017 at a conference in the UK. By then he had returned to the study of comics at a time when more and more scholars had turned their attention to both comics and David’s work. The following year at the International Graphic Novels and Comics conference in Bournemouth I was able to thank him publicly during my keynote address for his help, encouragement, and exemplary scholarship. His gracious nod in thanks was as wonderful as the first letter I received from him. We have lost a scholar of enormous importance.  

 

 

David Kunzle has received obituaries at the following sites: 

 

https://www.dailycartoonist.com/index.php/2024/01/09/david-kunzle-rip/ 

 

https://www.tcj.com/david-kunzle-1936-2024/ 

 

https://www.politicalgraphics.org/post/david-kunzle-presente-poster-of-the-week 

 

https://newsroom.ucla.edu/stories/in-memoriam-david-kunzle-art-and-comics-scholar 

 

And a fine memory from Charles Hatfield: https://www.tcj.com/remembering-david-kunzle/ 

 

Letters from Gordon's files

David Kunzle to Rebecca Zurier, May 8, 1992: 

Rebecca Zurier to David Kunzle, June 13, 1992:

Gordon to Kunzle, October 1, 1992:

 

Kunzle to Gordon, July 1, 1992:

Kunzle to Gordon, November 11, 1992: 

Martin Barker to Gordon, 1993:

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[1] Ian Gordon, ""But Seriously, Folks ...": - Comic Art and History," American Quarterly, 43 (June 1991): 122-126. 

[2] Ian Gordon, “In Praise of Comic Books as History: Joseph Witek and Comics Scholarship,” in Graphic Subjects: Critical Essays on Autobiography and the Graphic Novel, Michael Chaney ed., (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2011): 244-246.

Remembering Martin Barker by Ian Gordon and Jonathan Gray

 IJOCA has reached out to some of the people close to the ground-breaking scholar and asked for their remembrances of Prof. Martin Barker.

 

Martin Barker (1946-2022)

Ian Gordon

I saw that Martin had died through Paul Gravett’s social media post. Earlier Roger Sabin emailed to let me know Martin Barker had died. Roger knows how much I appreciate Martin’s work, but for some reason this message went to the spam folder, like so many important emails. I am not sure how many emails Roger sent out but if the outpouring of love on social media are any indication it might have been a lot. Martin touched many academic lives and his generosity knew few bounds.

I first met Martin at the College Art Association meeting in Washington, DC in February 1991. I was just at the start of my PhD research and attended the conference specifically to meet Martin. It was held in the cavernous Marriott hotel (then a Sheraton) in Woodley Park with the overflow of attendees in the Omni Shoreham across Calvert Street. Martin’s presentation at the conference was a breathtaking image driven piece. He used three projectors (no PowerPoint then) and counterpoised a series of images. Looking through his publications this paper gave rise to Martin’s piece on Judge Dredd. He dealt with the shift from corporation control to creator control of comic art characters. He spoke of fan communities’ roles in opening these opportunities and the corresponding direct marketing set up by entrepreneurs. He was weary of the entrepreneurs, but hopeful about the fan communities. This was 1991!

I remember being nervous and wanting to introduce myself to Martin and realizing there would be a throng of people wanting to talk to him at the end of the session. I anticipated a long wait so went to the bathroom during the last paper and there, washing my hands, I met Martin. I hesitantly introduced myself and apologized for doing so in that space. He laughed. I mentioned how wonderful and helpful I had found A Haunt of Fears when doing some work on comics as an undergraduate. I mentioned my research and he took particular interest in my tracing of when comic strips spread to newspapers across America, then a rather difficult process of research using microfilm at the Library of Congress. After about 10 minutes standing outside the bathroom with audience members starting to spot him there (look we all drank a lot of cheap coffee at these things in those days) and wanting to chat we agreed to meet the next day in the hotel foyer and have lunch. Martin went back to the session. The next day I waited and waited, but clearly there had been some miscommunication. I was quite happy though to have met him and to have had a better chat than the snatched few words that so often happen after a popular paper at a conference.

I did write to Martin and asked what had happened. I also outlined some more aspects of my work including an interest in intellectual property. Being a pack rat I have both these letters still. He apologized and said the whole session had been a blur thanks to his nervousness and when asked by Nina Kallmyer to go to Philadelphia, he had forgotten our arrangement. Reading his letter, I had not remembered that it was Martin who pointed me in the direction of long time-Duke, and now Columbia professor, Jane Gaines’s work on intellectual property and Superman, work that shaped my thinking on that issue and indeed eventually saw me write a book on Superman. That’s a thirty-year intellectual debt and I’m glad to have been reminded of the connection. I saw Martin again at the International Conference on Graphic Novels and Comics in Manchester in 2011. He was working the room approaching scholars young and old to discuss their papers and, in some cases, solicit contributions to his open access online journal Participations. I wish I had spoken to him more, but I do remember being thrilled to see him again and very chuffed to be asked for a piece.

For me, Martin’s stand-out work on comics is Comics: Ideology, Power & the Critics (1989). Writing for the volume Secret Origins of Comics Studies in 2017 (p. 125) I noted it “is a work often overlooked by comics scholars but widely cited in cultural studies work. It is a rich and complex book, although written in a conversational tone, with many useful cautions about drawing conclusions based on methodology that a priori sets up the conclusion as the only possible outcome of the research. Barker addresses ideology in comics directly and takes issue with many scholars’ readings of ideology into comics. Barker’s absence from so much comics scholarship is perhaps explained by his primary focus on British comics and his explicit exclusion of superhero and underground comics from his analysis. Barker criticizes scholars’ too-easy use of a notion of identification, the resort to media effects as a justification for moral panics on both the left and the right, develops his own approach to ideology, and brings this all together as a theory and a method in a case study application in reading How to Read Donald Duck.

One reason Barker is not so widely cited in comics scholarship is that he is not a theory builder, but rather a careful critic of theory who avoids totalizing statements and generalizations. To demonstrate the weak points of Dorfman and Mattelart’s work he offers three other interpretations of Disney that “appeal to exactly the same evidence from the stories” (1989, p. 287). As he tells it “for Reitberger and Fuchs … capitalism is mocked by being made absurd,” for another critic Dave Wagner “if we were not able to laugh at Scrooge, he could not survive to be the object of our derision” and for Michael Barrier “the humour is a parable of human absurdity”—how we are undone by our obsessions (Barker, 1989, p. 287). For Barker it is not that comics do not have an ideology, but that such is not singular, even within, say, Uncle Scrooge comics and that getting at this requires more than a reading of a comic or set of comics. What he calls the production history of comics is also important. For Barker the Scrooge comics oscillate between “two poles of American middle-class ideology: a self-congratulatory but humourous desire for wealth; and an obsessive fear of power-politics” (Barker, 1989, p. 299). Barker’s views here are predicated on his belief that comics establish a contract with their readers in which various negotiations of topics and content occur, negotiations somewhat observable through circulation figures and changes in plot devices, tropes, and the like in comics. In Disney’s case, the Scrooge comics are absent the awful lack of play induced by Disney’s creation of theme parks where all the work of play has been done already, and they also lack the horrible prettiness of Disney’s nature films where “animals end up performing to a Disney script with a voice-over narration making then cutely, dehumanised humans” (Barker, 1989, p. 290). Barker saw his work as “hints and gestures” and that “new kinds of research” that it was necessary to do more."

Hints and gestures. New kinds of research. And necessary to do more. These are Martin’s legacy. The reminder to be humble in “hints and gestures” should not override the extraordinary rich work of Martin Barker. 

 

Big Name B: With Thanks to and in Memory of Martin Barker 

Jonathan Gray (University of Wisconsin – Madison)

The first academic conference at which I ever presented was the Media, Communication, and Cultural Studies Association (MeCCSA) Conference in London, 2002. I was two years into my PhD and ready to share some thoughts, findings, and ideas. But my talk wasn’t till the last day, and I’d been warned this meant nobody would come: they’d all be on a train home. So I realized that receptions were likely my only place to make any kind of intellectual contact. Working up the confidence and gumption to introduce myself to Big Name A whose work I admired took the whole first half of the event, as I stood nervously eating crudités. Then I went and talked to him and he was a monumental jerk: condescending and rude, he seemed angry that I liked his work, disdainful that he needed to stoop so low as to talk to me. I retreated, shell-shocked, and decided I should maybe head home. As I shuffled off ignominiously to the door, though, I saw a man standing with no interlocutor. His name tag grabbed my attention since I loved his work. Big Name B was Martin Barker. Figuring that BN-A had already done the damage, and what worse could BN-B pour on, I thought I’d give this a second shot. Ten minutes later we were still talking. Barker was lovely. Gracious in receiving my compliments, yes, but quick to pivot to ask me about my work, and then enthusiastic and generous in discussing it. He challenged some of my assumptions and recommended some remedial reading, but all so constructively. In a room in which I didn’t matter to almost everyone, he made it clear that my ideas did matter to him. Later on he encouraged me to send him some of my work, which I did, fully expecting no response, and feeling apologetic for doing so (surely he was just being nice, and now here I was calling his bluff?) … and shortly got a long response back with incredibly thoughtful comments. Barker was probably the first person who wasn’t one of my own professors to express interest in my ideas, to communicate they might be important and valuable, and to encourage me to move onwards.

I’ve held that story privately for two decades, since egregiously Barker and his work weren’t more widely known. And then he passed away, and all of a sudden, Twitter and Facebook came alive with remembrances from so many others echoing my story. Except it was their story too, clearly, of Barker being enthusiastic and encouraging at an early age, generous and constructive, supportive and inspirational. And so although I share “my” story, I am now happy to know that it is a shared experience that many of us had, because Martin Barker really cared about ideas, not the position or name on their name tag.

I’ve also come to realize how appropriate this is given his scholarship. Barker wrote important work about comics, but the work I knew best was about film audiences. What was especially exciting and important about it was that he regularly talked to the audiences before the film was released, or at least in its early days. This may strike some as profoundly odd: surely, one might think, an audience has to be created in the act of consumption. How can one study “reception” or audience “reactions” to something that “doesn’t [yet] exist.” Barker sagely realized, though, that so much of the work of interpretation happens before we interact with a text, at the levels of anticipation, expectation, and framing. Thus his superb book with Kate Brooks, Knowing Audiences: Judge Dredd, Its Friends, Fans, and Foes (Luton: University of Luton Press, 1998), reports back on audience research conducted with people who were anticipating the Stallone Judge Dredd. Barker and Brooks posit that we all come to films with/in our own SPACE (Site for the Production of Active Cinematic Experience), our own orientation, and they insist that audience reception should begin with a consideration of these, not with the naïve assumption that audiences arrive as blank slates. Then, with Jane Arthurs and Ramaswami Harindrinath, The Crash Controversy: Censorship Campaigns and Film Reception (London: Wallflower Press, 2001), he tracked how the censorship campaign surrounding David Cronenberg’s film Crash was so overpowering in the UK that it framed the film, trapping it within tight interpretive bonds, for all audiences (even those who found the campaign odious). More ambitiously, he then worked towards a large and multinational reception project examining reception of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, where anticipation was once more a key (but by no means) the only object of analysis. So when I say it’s only appropriate that Martin Barker cared so much about helping young scholars, it’s because his work announced his realization that beginnings matter, that trajectories can be established from the very outset. He knew this of media, and he ensured that he cared about it with people studying media.

It saddens me to know we’re now without Barker. My last email from him came about two years ago, out of the blue, with pages worth of comments and questions about my most recent project. He never gave up being a mentor, yet never talked to me as though I was a mentee, just a colleague, peer, and equal who was working on something. May we all learn something from him. Be, or seek to be, Big Name B.