Letting the Everyday Speak its Own Power: The Works of Von Allan - A Review Essay

 by David Beard, University of Minnesota Duluth

Canadian graphic novelist Von Allan (a pen name) persistently plays with the tension between the mundane and the enchanted in his work, which is usually self-published. In Love, Laughter, and Loss, Allan funnels the enchanted and the emotionally powerful through stories that emphasize the mundane, sometimes for humorous effect, sometimes for tragic. In Wolf’s Head, probably his best work to date, the fanciful elements of a science fiction tale are masterfully pulled into a grounded, emotionally realistic story about a child grappling with their mother’s legacy. As Allan has moved into nonfiction (both in his public writings for the Ottawa Citizen and in participating in the documentary I Am Still Your Child), he continues to pull us deeper into the everyday, hoping to find the meaningful, and the tragic, therein.

 In Love, Laughter, and Loss, Allan works through two modes of storytelling. In the first half of the book, he inverts our expectations of fantasy storytelling. Traditionally, we have read high fantasy like the Lord of the Rings and then seen those gorgeous fantasy worlds translated, often unsuccessfully, into the tropes and tricks of roleplaying games. The “halflings” in Dungeons and Dragons are a way to recreate the Hobbits in Lord of the Rings without violating copyright; role playing games are like a strainer, sucking the depth and elegance from high fantasy so that it can be brought to a table with dice and miniatures.

 In his stories, such as “The Cowardly Clerics of Rigel V,” Total Party Kill,” and “The Two Magic-Users,” Allan tells us stories that begin with mundanity of role playing games. What would, in high fantasy, be the story of two wizards becomes the story of “two magic users.” In starting from the limitations of the tabletop roleplaying game, Allan makes us chuckle at the deflation of the genre.

 That same tendency (to start with the mundane) also undergirds Von Allan’s attempts to show us tragedy in Love, Laughter, and Loss. In a story about the Voyager and Pioneer spacecraft (“When I Find You Again, It Will Be In Mountains”), Allan begins with a simple dream of lost love. It’s only at the end of the dream that we see that the dreamers are actually spacecraft. Similarly, “I Was Afraid For My Life” begins as a story about a boy and a dog, only in the last pages revealing its powerful statement on race, violence, and policing.

 In all of these works, Von Allan’s commitment to pulling the fantastic and the tragic into the everyday makes it easier for him to tell a story that creates a laugh or packs a punch.

 Wolf’s Head is a stronger work than the bits and pieces collected in Love, Laughter, Loss, and so deserves a closer look. Wolf’s Head begins, in a way, where “I Was Afraid For My Life” leaves off, and its introductory page is remarkable in that it uses texture to convey the energy of the moment. The figure in the foreground is angry, and the play of texture behind her propels her forward. The lines radiating from something like an explosion of color represent, in texture, what she is feeling inside: Lauren Greene’s anger is propelled by the structural racism and violence inherent in policing, especially after the events of 2020 in Minneapolis. Her conscience won’t abide her participation in that system, and so she quits.

 I love this panel because it really shows the nuanced ways that Allan uses both the extraordinary and the simple to communicate. In a longer work like Wolf’s Head, the interplay between the fantastic dimensions of his stories and the tiny details of life in his art are what makes his voice unique in contemporary comics.  

 When Lauren finds a new job, Allan deploys those same texture techniques (crosshatching and some computerized spotting) to create a muddy picture of the place where Lauren now works. Instead of being propelled forward, Lauren is caught in the muck and darkness of her new life.

Allan introduces us to Lauren’s mom with the same techniques. I absolutely adore this first image of her mom (all solid colors and dark, thick lines), in sharp relief against (again) the complex textures of the apartment hallway and doorframe. On first, quick read, it’s possible to miss the oddly shaped musical note coming from her bag.

 That “bag” is the touch of the extraordinary in the Wolf’s Head story. Lauren’s mom works as a janitor in a research & development firm (Advanced Research Projects Corporation). The singing shoulder bag is actually a shapeshifting machine, an ARPC invention that has achieved self-awareness. It protected Lauren’s mom from an explosion at the factory and becomes her companion and guardian. When Lauren learns about her mom’s self-aware machine (and the goons from ARPC who want it back), she and her mom get into a fight about what to do next. Their reunion is possibly the most touching moment in the book. The goons kidnap Lauren to get at her mom. While Lauren’s mom is interrogated, she passes away from a heart attack, and Lauren is left with the self-aware machine and the ARPC goons in hot pursuit. The machine protector steps up and saves Lauren from the ARPC.

Wolf’s Head is at its best in the small things – Lauren’s search for meaning after leaving the force, her reunion with her mother. The story of the self-aware machine is the tiny twist that helps bring Von Allan’s gift for bringing the everyday into view. It’s difficult not to read this touching, loving mother-daughter relationship in Wolf’s Head without a sense of Von Allan’s interest in mental illness in families. His 2009 work, the road to god knows, is no longer in print, but the narrative arc (of a mom separated her from her child) resonates.

 In the road to god knows, the separation between child and parent is more painful than the separation in Wolf’s Head. In the latter, Lauren’s mom finds and comes to care for a sentient machine – anything, including reconciliation with Lauren, is possible in such a story. In the road to god knows, parent and child are ruptured by an illness that cannot be removed, only struggled with.

 In an interview with the CBC after Allan won recognition as a “trailblazer,” we learn that his late mother had schizophrenia; in other of his writings, he has addressed mental illness. In interview and essay, Von Allan’s penchant for crafting a picture of a realistic world helps him communicate the complexities of living with mental illness. In his writings for the Ottawa Citizen, Allan (writing under his real name as Eric Julien) shares his relationship with his childhood friend,David Thomas Foohey. Allan lays the facts of Foohey’s life on the table for the reader: his struggles living with older, blind parents who divorced; his struggles losing those parents (in 2004 and 2008). His depictions of Foohey’s attempt to grapple with mental illness are straightforward:

In Dave’s case, the medication emotionally “flat-lined” him. He phrased it this way: all of his emotions, not just the sad ones, were shunted off. Not sad, not filled with loss, but equally missing out on happiness and joy. There was just nothing at all. As a result, Dave gave up on the medication. He never did try another.

No hyperbole, no drama – whatever emotion you draw from Foohey’s story, you draw from the straightforward presentation of Dave’s story.

 Allan knows that his power as a storyteller comes from letting the everyday speak its own power, whether in the short stories of Love, Laughter, Loss, in the longer works (the road to god knows and Wolf’s Head), or nonfiction essays like “Dave’s Story.” Across his diverse works, by placing his focus on the everyday, Allan makes me laugh, makes me sad, and gives me hope.

 References

Von Allan Studio website: https://www.vonallan.com/

“Julien: Dave's Story — and the Agonizing Dilemma of Mental Illness.” Ottawa Citizen July 4, 2022

Love, Laughter, Loss. Ottawa: V. Allan Studio, 2021.

the road to god knows. Ottawa: V. Allan Studio, 2009.

Wolf’s Head. Ottawa: V. Allan Studio, 2021.

 “Trailblazers: Eric Julien.” CBC Interactive. March 23, 2019

I Am Still Your Child. CatBird Productions 2017

Book Review: Chronicles of a Circuit Breaker by Joseph Chiang

Chronicles of a Circuit Breaker, Joseph Chiang, Singapore: Epigram Books, 2021. https://epigrambookshop.sg/products/chronicles-of-a-circuit-breaker

reviewed by Mike Rhode

The burgeoning genre of what’s being called graphic medicine started decades ago with earnest PSA giveaway comic books on the dangers of smoking or animated military films warning about diseases such as syphilis and malaria. By 1994, Harvey Pekar and Joyce Brabner’s Our Cancer Year (illustrated by Frank Stack) set the pattern for the autobiographical account of personal suffering from disease which remains the dominant type of story. 2020 saw the genre increased by a wealth of comics in response to the COVID-19 pandemic. One of the lighter additions to these volumes is Chiang’s book collecting his webcomic, which unfortunately and undeservedly might be hard to get by most of our readers, only due to the ridiculous cost of international shipping. The production values and the care that went into it, with some strips redrawn four times and excellent computer coloring mean that the physical book is a pleasure to have. Chiang and Lim provided a copy to me for this review, but the webcomic is readable for free at https://www.josephdraws.com.

Chiang has collected his webcomic about Singapore’s struggle against COVID-19, and the government’s attempt to break the transmission of the disease via a pause in public life – a circuit breaker – from May through June 2020. “When the Circuit Breaker started, there was nothing to do for artists, which are the most non-essential workers, with no jobs, at that time I started a journal to record to the day-to-day happenings,” Chiang said in an interview with his editor CT Lim (who’s also country editor for IJOCA). His journal was written words but he would add in sketches and when the National Arts Council initiated a special COVID fund, he applied for a small grant for a digital project. While normally a print maker, he decided to turn his journal into a graphic novel, returning to the comics format he’d left about a decade ago. Due to the grant’s conditions, the comic would need to be a webcomic. Since every day was much the same, with everyone unable to leave the house, he decided to do a humorous strip. It was semi-autobiographical, not 100% true, but based on his family and what he saw on the news. “Putting myself in as a character, solved the problem of people possibly accusing me of laughing at other’s misfortunes.” 

 

 

His first attempt foundered when he attempted to adapted his journal directly because a straight depiction of his daily life quickly grew dull. Working with Lim, the strip’s look and content gradually evolved to humorous stacked panels, which could eventually be collected in a book, and also displayed in an exhibit. But at the beginning, he mostly wanted to draw a webcomic that he collected as a pdf and submitted it in fulfillment of his grant. The initial project took three months, but for a book, he needed to double the amount of strips, and he didn’t think he could force himself to do more. The end of the book as a result is a post-circuit breaker follow-up and some single-panel ‘lessons’ that Chiang learned.

The book is laid out by day – a prelude introduces the government’s plan and his wife’s immediate hoarding of toilet paper, and his family’s reaction to bonding – by looking at their cell phones just as they had been earlier, day 1 shows his daughter getting tired of her parents ignoring their morning alarm, and deciding to wake them with her saxophone, day 3 is his decision to launch a comic strip about his family (and his favorite page of the book). By day 10, he shows himself being winded by the exercise of running around his couch three times; on day 17 Chiang shows his mask snapping and his running and hiding in a toilet; on day 33, he draws a very traditional gag cartoon of playing Scrabble with his family and getting “covid” as a word; and by day 53, he’s got a suntan except for his mouth where his mask has covered it.

Chiang’s simple, clear cartooning, influenced by American indy cartoonists and traditional comic strips (and colored with faux Benday dots to reinforce that), is a both a serious recounting of some of the issues of isolation and over-familiarity brought about by quarantine enforcement and the fear of a communicable disease with no cure and unclear etiology, as well as an enjoyable light family comic strip. I would definitely recommend this volume to those interested in the genre.  An interview by Lim with Chiang, with a discussion of the cartoons and a look at the exhibit of them, can be seen on Facebook at <https://www.facebook.com/109354309101740/videos/312307143951724>

 A version of this review will appear in print in issue 23:2. Epigram publishes other graphic medicine books including White Coat Tales about attending medical school in Singapore, and The Antibiotic Tales by acclaimed cartoonist Sonny Liew. Also available online is James Tan's All Death Matters, about end-of-life care.

Book Review - Menopause: A Comic Treatment

All images courtesy of Penn State University Press

reviewed by Janis Be Breckenridge, Whitman College

Czerwiec, MK, ed. Menopause: A Comic Treatment, University Park, Pennsylvania State University Press, 2020, 135 pages, $29.95, ISBN: 978-0271087122.

 Shattering the silence and secrecy surrounding the ‘big change,’ Menopause: A Comic Treatment offers an unflinching look at an often stigmatized or taboo topic. For those unsure of the precise nature of the biological process, the National Library of Medicine defines menopause as “the time in a woman's life when her period stops. It usually occurs naturally, most often after age 45. Menopause happens because the woman's ovaries stop producing the hormones estrogen and progesterone.”

 This collaborative volume collects twenty-five highly distinct graphic works that vary in length from single-page comics to a sixteen-page illustrated narrative. Showcasing an array of personal experiences, the intimate stories convey multiple aspects of this biological event, from physical to psychological, hormonal to spiritual. While one author-protagonist somewhat anxiously anticipates perimenopause, the majority narrate the process as it unfolds or reflect upon it in hindsight. Most undergo menopause naturally, seemingly as a rite of passage, while others detail early onset, chemical, or surgical menopause. In parallel fashion, these testimonials run the gamut of emotional responses from confusion and frustration to curiosity and fascination. Even as some contributions narrate overcoming shame and ignorance, others insist upon jubilant celebration or assume a defiantly irreverent attitude. A particularly laudable characteristic of the anthology is the diversity of the contributors—across the spectrum of age, ethnicity, profession, sexual and gender identification, even expertise with comics creation itself—that have come together to share their wide-ranging perspectives. In short, Menopause: A Comic Treatment effectively illustrates how the complexities of menopause are anything but a singular experience.

 In a brief introductory essay, editor MK Czerwiec (known online as Comic Nurse) relates her own unpreparedness for the destabilizing effects of perimenopause and how failure to find adequate representation in popular culture led to the creation of this volume. Discovering a paucity of comics on the topic, and worse, that the few in existence were denigrating and judgmental, Czerwiec was determined to produce a work with a positive ethos aiming to help women understand their bodies, navigate the unknown, and foster a community of support. In her words, “A new collection of comics was needed—one that shared stories that might actually be helpful, stories that encourage those of us facing the symptoms of perimenopause to find our voices rather than remain silent, to invite us into strength rather than push us further into shame” (2). The result is the most recent of nineteen titles in Pennsylvania State’s pioneering Graphic Medicine book series which, as stated on their website, affirms “a growing awareness of the value of comics as an important resource for communicating about a range of issues broadly termed “medical.” 

 True to the spirit of the graphic medicine series, Menopause: A Comic Treatment effectively informs the reader by depicting real-world, lived experiences rather than touting medical jargon. Two contributions—not coincidentally those of medical practitioners themselves—directly incorporate the voices of healthcare and academic professionals, only to immediately turn away from specialized terminology and instead offer personalized responses as laypeople. Monica Lalanda’s comic, “When My Biological Clock Stopped Ticking,” opens with her discussing menopause “as a doctor” but the impenetrable language quickly degenerates into “blah blah blah” (26); her response “as a woman” immediately follows and provides the more relatable perspective maintained in the rest of the cartoon. 

Excerpt from “When My Biological Clock Stopped Ticking” by Monica Lalanda

 

 Similarly, Czerwiec’s “Burning Up” includes a full-page panel in which a professor of neurobiology lectures about the neurobiological functioning of the hypothalamus; the rest of the comic presents her personal and far more-accessible theory that the purpose of hot flashes is, and I cite her technical explanation verbatim here, “give-a-shits burning off” (34). Throughout the anthology, contributors share private thoughts, personal coping strategies, and individual ways of coming to terms with myriad symptoms including hot flashes, cold sweats, six-month-long periods, vaginal dryness, thinning hair and dry skin, vaginal atrophy, lack of sleep, etc. An absolute rejection of menopause as a pathology, however, becomes a common denominator across their stories. 

Excerpt from “Burning Up” by MK Czerwiec

 

 In representing the myriad ways that contributors maintain their “own styles for living through the challenges of perimenopause” (3), the volume showcases correspondingly divergent narrative and visual styles. Comics by newer and first-time artists are accompanied by those of veteran cartoonists whose work will be immediately recognizable to comics enthusiasts. Lynda Barry’s “Menopositive!” maintains the characteristic attributes of her unique genre of autobifictionalography by humorously revisiting traumatizing uncertainties of girlhood, cultural anxieties, and triumphant moments of self-discovery. 

Excerpt from “Menopositive!” by Lynda Barry

 

 Roberta Gregory’s contentious signature character, the angry and often crass Bitchy Bitch, makes an appearance (a reprint from her last Naughty Bits storyline, issue #40, 2004). Her bitter rant about first menses and the inconveniences of menstruation ends with manic glee at the prospect of burning feminine her hygiene products and never suffering with cramps or PMS again. And true to her own underground comix roots and work with Tits and Clits, Joyce Farmer offers a funny, potentially scandalous, sex-positive comic affirming not only that menopausal women get horny, they also know how to take care of themselves.

 An examination of the cover art reveals how the design anticipates the volume’s intimate content, complex intricacies, and often surprising juxtapositions. A blood-red overlay on a dramatically enlarged comic, together with the large white and yellow lettering that boldly announces the volume’s title—which seems to scream and leap off the page—confers a sense of urgency, if not a somewhat harsh, almost garish, quality. The strategically cropped reproduction of Teva Harrison’s “The Big Change” depicts a stand-up comedy routine in which the speaker verbally calls out and simultaneously acts out (bodily and through exaggerated facial expressions) myriad symptoms linked to this time in her life when “estrogen has left the building.” With an effective combination of sparse text and cartoonish close ups, each panel lingers on a single, specific indicator of perimenopause. Not coincidentally, hot flashes take center stage. In this way, the comedienne dramatically illustrates, with grace and humor, that menopause is no laughing matter. But the punchline, revealed only here within the comic, truly delivers a one-two punch: the speaker suffers sudden and acute symptoms as a result of surgical menopause, but finds vengeful solace in knowing that her suffering causes her cancer to suffer. The contributor biography at the book’s conclusion informs the reader that the original comic appeared in Harrison’s In -Between Days: A Memoir About Living with Cancer and, tragically, that the author later died of breast cancer. This poignant work, which weaves the volume together from start to finish, aptly conveys the anthology’s overall tone and structure. The comic exemplifies the creative blending of the personal and the clinical even as it graphically illustrates how serious complications can be treated with ludic undertones.

 Further highlighting the bewildering effects of menopause, graphic memoirist Mimi Pond uses techniques of exaggeration, distortion, and excess in “Women’s Carnival.” A middle-aged woman and her mother stumble upon a women-only funfair complete with a tunnel of love (whose red waters dry up before the ride is over), fun house mirrors (where the rapidly aging mother eventually becomes invisible), a mood swing (in which she insists that she never loved or perhaps feverishly loved her husband), and a hormone scrambler (a metaphor? ask the characters with ironic self-awareness). 

Excerpts from “Women’s Carnival” by Mimi Pond

 Pond’s bizarre carnival culminates with a freakshow that delivers scathing social critique. To the protagonists’ incredulity, rare women, true oddities—such as one who asked for and received a raise, another who can still wear her high school clothes, and another who confronted a coworker and received an apology—are put on display. The climactic highlight features a naked chorus of the world’s angriest women who take the stage to rage at having been discredited, objectified, and dismissed. The mother, visibly transformed after experiencing one wild ride after another, ultimately opts for the freedom and liberation of running away with this circus. These escapades, rendered in bright, flashy colors, demonstrate the absurdity and unpredictability of women’s biological cycles together with their unequal social status.

 Likewise exploring how women perceive themselves and are perceived by society, but now through the lens of gender and sexuality, two comics signal the need for greater inclusivity in discussions around menopause. For Ajuan Mance, uncertainties about when perimenopause will begin and what it will be like raise a unique set of questions as a gender non-conformist. In “Any Day Now” the genderqueer academic, self-described as a “woman-identified-gentleman-scholar” (66), points out that womanhood has been defined by doctors and poets primarily in relation to motherhood, fertility, and femininity. Reflecting on the shared (and unshared) professional and personal milestones experienced by members of a female cohort brings recognition of personally deriving identity more from intellectual adeptness and physical strength than reproductive functioning. With this insight, worries about being able to continue wearing favorite sweaters and ties during heat flashes shift to concerns about potential memory and dexterity losses more commonly associated with aging. The experimental comic, in which each page becomes a technical exercise in the shifting use of color to indicate changes in tone, time, and emotional states, foregrounds the reality that conversations around menopause presume a CIS gender identity.

Excerpt from “Any Day Now” by Ajuan Mance

 

 In a similar vein, trans author KC Councilor’s “Cycles” opens with a question that leaves him disconcerted: what is it like to go from a body that cycles to one that doesn’t? The comic then explores, in retrospect, the situation of being trapped in a female body, feeling aversion and loathing towards its regular cycles. A flashback reveals how this disconnect was externalized when her parents openly celebrated her first menses, an event that she experienced as a “bloody painful horror” (75). A more humorous disjuncture takes place during hormonal transitioning when, experiencing a period while using the men’s restroom, he nearly pelts another man as he tosses a bloody tampon into the trash. The final panel poses a disarming inversion to the comic’s opening as he poses a comparably jarring question, one that will likely give the reader pause: “What does it feel like to relate to the body you’re in?” (77). 

Excerpt from “Cycles” by KC Councilor.

 

 The publication of Menopause: A Comic Treatment is particularly timely if the Washington Post’s Wellness section is any indication. Several recent articles address the topic, citing the importance of normalizing conversations around menopause in order to ensure that women get the care, guidance, and support they need to safely manage disruptive symptoms. “Why Everyone Needs to Know More about Menopause - Especially Now” (June 29, 2020) laments women’s lack of knowledge and discusses the positive, stress-reducing impact open discussions around perimenopause can have, pointing to how this is especially critical during the pandemic when anxiety and depression are on the rise. “Experts are Cheering Michelle Obama’s Openness about Hot Flashes. And They Have Some Advice” (August 20, 2020) again underscores the value of open discussions and praises the former First Lady for being forthright about her own experiences, while “Another Routine the Pandemic has Disrupted: Your Period” (August 24, 2020) offers anecdotal evidence of increased irregularity in women’s cycles due to the stresses of the pandemic.

 Indeed, centered on the intersection of women’s bodies and real-life experiences, Menopause: A Comic Treatment heeds this urgent call for candid and frank discussion, sharing information and resources, and forming supportive networks. As this review has hopefully made clear, each comic offers a unique and particular response to perimenopause. Yet through these intimately personal if not openly confessional tales, several overlapping themes emerge. These include flashbacks to the uncertainties and fears that surrounded first menses, encountering the invisibility that awaits the aging female in society, coming to terms with myriad symptoms, and ultimately discovering a newfound sense of liberation and freedom. Contributors give voice to uncertainties and fears, but often feature protagonists who overcome shame or ignorance to ultimately find satisfaction, gaining both empowerment and independence. In short, these women come to accept if not embrace this transitional period (no pun intended). MK Czerwiec’s groundbreaking anthology successfully achieves her important goals of breaking silences, exposing secrets, and drawing together individuals to create a community of knowledge. The many laughs along the way are an added bonus. 

Janis Be, Professor of Hispanic Studies, specializes in socially committed narrative and visual cultural production. Her scholarship on Spanish-language comics, which has appeared in IJOCA, ImageText, Ciberletras, Chasqui, Confluencia and Ergocomics, covers such diverse topics as Argentine feminism, the Spanish Civil War, childhood recollections of Pinochet’s Chile, Alzheimer’s, addiction, and traumatic memory. Versions of this review will appear online and in print in IJOCA 22:2.