Crushin' on McCloud...

Last semester, I took Linda Karell’s Studies in Literary Genres, in which we read, researched, and wrote on graphic novels. As we studied McCloud, I soon knew that Understanding Comics is one of the most profound theory books to hit our generation. I was swept away by all that went on in the graphics, underneath my very nose, working rhetorical magic entirely unbeknownst to me. I was awestruck by the complexity of it all, the focus and intention comic artists poured into their medium, and the profound capacity of comics to portray what simple written word never could.

I was poised— immensely impressed by the graphic genre, and spinning with all these great, deep, profound thoughts— then my roommates started making fun of me. While they sat,

studying molecular biology or fretting over bio-geo-engineering, I read Stitches, attentively analyzing its washed greys and blacks, the paint bleeding off the page, and the predominant silence throughout the graphic novel. These “comics” were more than Sunday funnies, more than colorful newspapers I recycle into wrapping paper—they were a sophisticated art, intricately designed and purposed to convey meaning, working within multiple dimensions to communicate numerous messages. But soon, too soon, my roommates teased me that my homework was all “reading comics,” or “another hard night of Batman.” They spoke with humor, of course, but also with naiveté, with implicit bias.

All my attempts to defend the genre’s complexity and depth were overpowered by their jesting, and I soon stopped my efforts to advocate for the craft, and took the teasing good-naturedly. I know, poor me. But my story of literary martyrdom isn’t the point. What is, is how McCloud points out the self-conscious nature of comic writers.

“For much of the century, the word “comics” has had such negative connotations that many of comics’ devoted practitioners have preferred to be known as “illustrators,” “commercial artists,” or at best, “cartoonists”! And so, comics’ low self-esteem is self-perpetuating! The historical perspective necessary to counteract comics’ negative image is obscured by that negativity.” (p. 18).

How often does this same attitude manifest in our use of digital rhetorics?  When do we find ourselves changing technological terms to sound more academic? “I uhhh…need to go write a discussion post, not you know, a blog, because uhhh….blogs obviously aren’t amazing tools we can use to participate in virtual, multi-modal conversations.  Obviously.”  The

Guts, pluck...always pushing social/literary conventions.

shame or self-consciousness we let be associated with digital writing, or any labels we accept that define the craft as less than pure art, only work against its mainstream acceptance and progression. The graphic novel genre, like many other forms of digital rhetoric, is revolutionary. It allows messages to be conveyed not only in content, but in form. We see what the author means, and enter into a rich interactive conversation with the text, as we lend it time, space, closure, and meaning. Over and over again, McCloud shows the power of compactness in graphics—much can be communicated in a single panel, like on page 99 where McCloud steps outside the his panel frame. Think just a second about the connotations of him moving outside the panel, and your mind should explode to questions of reality/fiction overlap, authority, genre expectations, innovation, postmodernism, and so forth. A single line drawn differently can drastically change an entire panel’s meaning.

Finally, I find it ironic that graphic novels get tossed aside as “mere comics,” something

childish and not intellectually stimulating or worth academic attention, when in fact the genre can affect their reader without the reader even being aware, making graphics a sly, smart, and sophisticated art—a “sleeper” sitting there quietly, not making a big show, but quietly working on your brain beyond your comprehension. Traditional critics attack rhetoric, saying it’s dishonest and manipulative, using pretty language or well-constructed prose to win over the reader.

The irony is, that the graphic novel works this same “manipulation,” but in spades.  An intensity of information affects the reader, making them think, feel, respond, and engage as their eyes scan the pages, but without texts like McCloud’s, we would likely not even consider what happens when our mind passes between the gutter. The rhetorical work of graphic, which walks around in "childish" clothing, actually works in powerful, almost secretive ways-- partly because few have taken to unearthing its inner workings.  A quiet strength, working beyond our levels of recognition.  The genre that is demeaned as being immature or simple may very well be even more complex, powerful, and able to toy with the reader—even more a deserved recipient of critical reading, attentive analysis, and integration into academic literary canons.