literature of comics and the graphic narrative: amira shaer

Being that I am a total sucker for comics, the recent Black Panther film, and beautifully colored, expertly inked sequential illustration, naturally I had to read Black Panther #1. I would have read it before, in all truth, but the last time I visited the comic book store I was low on cash and I haven't been back since. Reading the comic online was a lot easier than being a delinquent and pulling the physical copy from its sleeve to (hopefully) inconspicuously read in the store, believe it or not! Anyway, I was delighted by this comic. No surprise-- from a standpoint based purely in aesthetic and artistic merit, the work was beautiful. From the organization of the panels, to the character design, to the impressive use of color, I was in love. I was also in love with some of the characters we were introduced to that I don't believe were shown in the film. The two women from the Dora Milaje (Ayo and Aneka) that have a change of heart and decide that they no longer live to pro

Diary of a Dominatrix was a pretty interesting, shocking ride. What's particularly interesting, though, is that much of the shock I felt as a reader was not so much born of the extremely explicit nature of the material, but more so the casual attitude with which the narrator regarded all of these explicit themes. The work gives instructions on how to properly sexually humiliate and torture cisgender men, and does so with the frivolity that a chocolate chip cookie recipe in a cook book might give instructions. And I think it's this attitude that the protagonist has that drives home the shock even more; as if seeing and reading about these intensely explicit and even taboo subjects wasn't enough, the one presenting it to us appears to be extremely bored or jaded by it all. I think that was one of the defining, and perhaps even weirdly charming aspects of this work. Generally speaking I also just really enjoyed Zelda, the main character. It's not often you get such an

I had a really good time reading the contemporary comics. I found myself reading several of them this week, among them Footnotes in Gaza , Acme Novelty Library #1 , Daytripper #1 , and Strangers in Paradise #1 . Strangers in Paradise was the last of these that I read, and perhaps the work that I was able to relate to the most.  From a strictly visual standpoint, I love the look of the piece. I'm a sucker for black and white comics, I love their dependence on careful, deliberate line work. I also really liked the stylization of the characters; the stylization is enough that there is a distinct style to the work, but everything still leans more towards realism rather than abstraction-- and does so very convincingly, something I'm struggling to achieve with my own art at the moment.  I think above all else, however, what really made the work for me were the characters. Their experiences seem to communicate some (unfortunately) universal experiences and do so very effective

I went into this text not really knowing what to expect. The only assumption I had made--based solely on the style of the art-- was that the subject matter would be lighthearted, as comics with this sort of classic style tend to be associated more with lighthearted content. I was surprised when I found that this wasn't the case; the story deals with death and how it is dealt out in multiple instances. The first character we are introduced to dies shortly thereafter, and the way in which he dies spares no theatrics; he is burned to death, his charred body promptly brought back to his home. Eventually the entire village of people are slaughtered, with no members of the community-- not even children-- spared. The story goes on to introduce the reader to Himiko, who eagerly sentences even the most loyal of her subjects to death. Not what I was expecting, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't also interest me a lot more than I anticipated. I like the sense of humor that the au

Moebius is one of my favorite illustrators hands down. I was initially taken by the style of his artwork; I love that so often he depends largely on careful line work to create forms and textures, and in contrast allows his coloring to be relatively simple. This sampling of stories also helped to emphasize how broad his storytelling abilities were, in the sense that they were not limited to a single genre or kind of story. His stories from Heavy Metal include a number of sci-fi pieces (always a favorite genre of mine), historic pieces, and more contemporary pieces like 'Hitman Episode No. 1: The Thousandth Contract.' I love that the artist is able to retain that certain familiarity and nuance of his style while simultaneously being able to change it up; in some pieces the black line work is more thick than in others, working more so as shadow shapes that define form than line. Other times he uses line work that doesn't really vary in line weight, even refraining from using

1. What is your reaction to the text you just read? Initially I was a bit confused by the reveal at the end of the story, but a brief reflection on the story as a whole helped me make sense of it and realize that the suggestion of Superman's fate was evident all along, but more so in the way Lois told the story than in the story itself. The way Lois was portrayed, the calmness with which she handled herself and recalled the story, should have made plain that something was off-- that Superman's fate was not as the story suggested on the surface. What's interesting is that she wasn't being dishonest, technically, because it was true that she never saw Superman again-- she saw a normal, human man, free of his superpowers. I was ultimately pretty satisfied by this ending, especially given that the entire piece had this overarching tone of unavoidable doom, but ended on a positive note.  2. What connections did you make with the story? Discuss the elements of the w