Thoughts on Heroes Con day one

So I just got back from the first day of Heroes Con in Charlotte, North Carolina. This is the first major comic convention I’ve attended since my last Comic-Con, which was in 2008. (Dragon*Con doesn’t count for reasons I’ll explain below.) So here are some thoughts inspired by Heroes Con:

Thought 1 – Going to conventions is really a central part of the way I experience and think about comics fandom. It’s something I’ve missed more than I realized, and maybe it’s because of the lack of that experience that I haven’t been enjoying comics so much lately, even though I’ve been buying as many comics as ever. When all I do is read the comics, it’s an essentially solitary experience. My appreciation of comics is enriched if I feel some personal connection with the people behind them. Going to conventions and talking with creators turns the solitary practice of reading comics into a social practice. I don’t feel that Facebook can easily substitute for this.

Thought 2 – Heroes Con is a much smaller and more intimate convention than Comic-Con, which is my primary point of comparison. It reminds me of Comic-Con in 2002 or 2003, when it didn’t even occupy the entire convention center and it was still possible to buy a four-day pass on site. Heroes Con has not expanded to the point of unsustainability. Nor has it completely taken over the city; I don’t think I saw anyone else who was attending Heroes Con until I was actually in the building. Further, Heroes Con is entirely devoted to comics. I don’t know that it’s an entirely bad thing that Comic-Con now includes so many other fandoms, but as someone whose primary fan interest is comics, I find it kind of refreshing when my hobby (and profession, sort of) is the main event rather than a side attraction, as it is at Dragon*Con.

Thought 3 – I forgot what an exhausting experience a comic convention can be. I’ve been going to local mini-conventions recently, but at those events I can use a wheeled suitcase to carry my purchases, and I didn’t think that was appropriate for this convention. Carrying around a backpack full of trade paperbacks and comics makes me tired and sweaty in a hurry. I had to go back to my hotel at one point to shower and drop stuff off.

More thoughts later. I hope to write a blog post about the Comics Canon panel, but that will have to wait.

Thoughts on Graphic Women

Welcome to my new blog. My name is Aaron Kashtan, I got my Ph.D. in English from the University of Florida, and I’m currently a Marion L. Brittain Postdoctoral Fellow at the Georgia Institute of Technology.

This blog will cover a variety of topics related to my personal and academic interests, which I find are rather difficult to distinguish from each other. Future posts may focus on video games I’ve been playing, theoretical books I’ve been (EDIT: I forgot to finish this sentence, I was going to say:) studying, novels or comics I’ve been reading, and so on.

The original inspiration for this blog was that I had been thinking a lot about Hillary Chute’s fairly recent book Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics, and I felt I needed a public forum to share my thoughts on this book. Therefore, here they are:

On one level this is a really impressive book. Hillary Chute has a sophisticated knowledge of the academic discourse she’s working in (feminism and trauma studies) and a clear understanding of how her own work fits into that discourse. Her scholarship is well-researched and academically rigorous. This elevates Graphic Women above much other work in comics studies. Even if I fundamentally disagree with the argument of the book, that’s only possible because she does make an argument that is interesting and non-obvious and that therefore invites disagreement.

However, while I cannot find fault with this work’s level of scholarship, I do think that it’s wrong in a lot of ways and that it tends to close off discourse rather than opening it up. Chute begins the book by making what Noel Carroll calls a medium specificity argument: she argues that because comics can do certain things more effectively than other media, comics should do those things and not other things. She does not clearly identify this argument as such, but that’s what it is. She writes: “The form of comics has a peculiar relationship not only to memoir and autobiography in general, as I will note, but to narratives of development. Additionally, comics and the movement, or act, of memory share formal similarities that suggest memory, especially the excavation of childhood memory, as an urgent topic in this form” (4). She continues: “Through its hybrid and spatial form, comics lends itself to expressing stories, especially narratives of development, that present and underscore hybrid subjectivities.” Chute goes on to suggest that because comics has a “peculiar relationship with” or “lends itself to” stories about development, trauma, history, etc., these stories should be the privileged subject matter of comics. “The force and value of graphic narrative’s intervention, on the whole, attaches to how it pushes on conceptions of the representable that have become commonplace in the wake of deconstruction, especially in contemporary discourse about trauma” (2). “The diegetic horizon of each page, made up of what are essentially boxes of time, lends graphic narratives a representational mode capable of taking up complex political and historical issues with an explicit, formal degree of self-awareness, which explains why historical graphic novels are the strongest emerging genre in the field” (9). “Green is responsible for creating the autobiographical genre of comics that has become the dominant mode of contemporary work … It is fitting that Green would choose comics, a medium that is centrally occupied with experiments in spatiotemporal representation, for a narrative marked by an obsession with space and time” (17).

Chute certainly has every right to be personally uninterested in comics that deal with subjects other than trauma, autobiography, memory, etc. However, her rhetoric suggests that these subjects are the only proper subjects of “literary” comics – that comics which address other topics are not literary, not among the stronger genres, not the dominant mode of contemporary work. This is a medium specificity argument, an argument which conflates formal properties with cultural properties. It’s equivalent to Alberti arguing that the historia is the ideal mode of painting, or Lessing arguing that painting should be about bodies and poetry shoud be about actions. In the first place, this sort of argument has often been used to claim that comics cannot be literature. But more importantly, the effect of this argument is to close off the field of comics studies, implying that other types of comics are less worthy of study than those that Chute studies. Chute is resolutely uninterested in, for example, mainstream comics or manga, and her model of comics is not applicable to these types of comics. She explicitly says, for example, that she’s not interested in comics produced by multiple creators (6), and her historical account of mainstream comics ends with the Comics Code (13).

In the specific context of Chute’s argument, this is fine, because I get the distinct impression that Chute is more interested in issues of feminism and trauma than in comics as such. Chute’s book is primarily an intervention in debates over feminist visual culture. However, it also frames itself as a book about comics, and Chute has become a significant institutional representative of comics studies. To that extent, I think it’s unfortunate that Chute seems uninterested in promoting the study of other modes of comics, or even of comics as comics. To the extent that Chute proposes a theory of comics, it’s a theory which is limited to a very narrow body of work, and which does not help us understand the wider body of comics.

I have additional problems with the way Chute theorizes materiality, but that’s a subject for another post.

WORKS CITED: Chute, Hillary. Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics. New York: Columbia University Press, 2010.