• Meanwhile, Ten-Cent Plague author David Hajdu reviews Robert Crumb’s adaptation of Genesis for the New York Times:

Crumb's The Book of Genesis

For all its narrative potency and raw beauty, Crumb’s “Book of Genesis” is missing something that just does not interest its illustrator: a sense of the sacred. What Genesis demonstrates in dramatic terms are beliefs in an orderly universe and the godlike nature of man. Crumb, a fearless anarchist and proud cynic, clearly believes in other things, and to hold those beliefs — they are kinds of beliefs, too — is his prerogative. Crumb, brilliantly, shows us the man in God, but not the God in man.

Over at Comics Comics, Dan Nadel calls BS on Hajdu’s review: “One wonders why an author would persist in writing about a subject he clearly disdains and isn’t interested in actually learning about, but I guess that’s between Hajdu and his own idea of the sacred.”

Go read the whole takedown; it’s fun.

• Once again, Brian Chippendale brings the awesome. This time, he talks about Master of Kung-Fu.

• Over at the Savage Critics, David Uzumeri doesn’t care much for the latest issue of Brave & Bold:
“This comic is like being lectured to by your grandfather. This comic is like a video they put on in history class during a substitute session.”

• Von Marlowe really like Marvel Adventures Amazing Spider-Man #55: “I will be buying the next issue, and the next after that, and the next after that.”

• Paul Gravett, who is always worth reading, talks about Willy Linthout’s The Year of the Elephant.

• Jeff VanderMeer calls Richard Sala’s Cat Burglar Black: “a charming and stylish escapade.”

• Matthias Wivel reviews Asterios Polyp: “The originality of its vision, then, lies not in its portrayal of human emotion but rather in the art of its construction, and in what it leaves to our imagination.”

• Down the Tubes declares The Misadventures of Jane: “another top quality book from Titan that is sure to appeal to aficionados of newspaper strips, glamour art and wartime memorabilia.”

• Both Matthew Brady and Michael Buntag give Naoki Urasawa some love.

• Finally, Derik Badman reviews the first Oishinbo volume and then tries out one of the recipes, which I’ve been dying for someone to do.

Stitches: A Memoir

Stitches: A Memoir
by David Small
WW Norton, 336 pages, $24.95.

Monsters
by Ken Dahl
Secret Acres, 208 pages, $18.

I sometimes suspect that part of the reason some critics (if I can use that term) are hostile towards the recent spate of comic book (sorry, graphic novel) memoirs is due to a mistrust of the genre itself. There’s a tendency when someone is chronicling a dramatic, personal event, to exult praise merely for inherent drama of the story, particularly if it’s a traumatic one, than the skill in the telling. Some folks, in other words, get swept up in the idea of the story itself and the bravery of the person in coming forward to tell it, and ignore whether or not the work succeeds as art.

Certainly the success of books like Fun Home and Persepolis has resulted in publishers unleashing a number of bad or mediocre memoirs on the public. So perhaps it’s not surprising some folks are wary when a buzz-heavy memoir gets released.

Two such books hit the stands recently, David Small’s National Book Award-nominated (but kids only!) Stitches and the Ken Dahl’s Monsters. The good news is that both books deserve at least some, if not all, of the positive attention they’ve been getting.

Stitches is about author David Small’s peculiar and rather bleak childhood. The child of emotionally distant and withdrawn parents, Small found himself constantly trying to maneuver around them, avoiding their wrath, particularly that of his mother, who seemed to capable of deep, dark and ugly mood swings. A sickly child, Small was frequently subjected to x-rays by his radiologist dad, which, in his teen years resulted in his contracting throat cancer. The amazing part is that Small’s parents let it go untreated for three and a half years and, worse still, kept the nature of his illness a secret from him.

It’s his parents’ seeming indifference to his plight, both physical and mental, that mark this book and give it its heft. Small’s later anger at his folks when he discovers their duplicity as a teen is palpable, and it’s clear a lot of that anger still lingers in sequences where his mom goes on a shopping spree, while he gets steadily more ill.

If there’s a problem with the book it’s that Small pulls up too many loose threads. Issues, like his awkward relationship with his father, are brought up but never explored satisfactorily. His older brother surely must have had some influence on his upbringing, but he’s barely a supporting character. He hints at being bullied by classmates, at the demons that hounded his mother, and even his maternal grandmother, but he keeps a certain distance from direct revelation. That does give the book a sense of mystery, of terrible family secrets best left unexplored, but it also can make for a frustrating reading experience .

But if the book feels unfocused at times it remains a captivating read nevertheless. Small has a great visual acuity no doubt honed by his many years as a children’s book illustrator, and he is able to offer a number of stunning sequences, particularly when attempting to express his own fragile emotional state at the time. At one point, for example, in attempting to explain how art provided a respite from the outside world, Small draws himself literally diving into a piece of paper. In another he shows his final emotional release with a caring therapist by portraying a rainstorm slowly, over several pages, as it moves across the neighborhood.

It’s sequences like those, and many others, that make Stitches ultimately work and worth recommending. Small’s story is certainly shocking and moving enough to be draw in an initial crowd, but it’s his telling that makes you want to stick around and listen till the end.

Monsters

Ken Dahl’s big trauma, meanwhile, happened to him when he was an adult. Monsters, you see, is not about parental problems or awkward adolescence but about sexually transmitted diseases. Herpes to be specific.

As topics go, it’s certainly about as intimate and personal as you can get. Few people would want to go public with such a revelation, let alone talk about it over dinner with friends. But Dahl proves to be a fearless and funny storyteller and Monsters makes for a hugely entertaining read.

The book starts by asking the sentence “Imagine never kissing anyone on the lips again” before segueing to Dahl and his then-girlfriend ensconced in young-couple bliss. Soon, however, said girlfriend starts to have problems “down there.” A trip to the doctor reveals it’s oral herpes. Worse yet, Dahl probably gave it to her, possibly through the frequent cold sores he contracts.

And it’s here that Dahl begins his slow, horrible spiral downward, as his relationship flounders and eventually self-destructs. He tries to remain virtuous, and avoid sexual contact, but the life of a celibate is a tough one (in one of the books best sequences he literally turns into a dog in heat as he watches beautiful women pass by on a park bench). He frustration and self-pity lead him to hooking up with a woman at a party and he conveniently “forgets” to tell her about his little problem. It takes a lot of education, self-flagellation, poor medical choices (one of the concurrent themes of the book is the lack of adequate medical care in America) and frustration before he finally meets a woman willing to see past the disease and accept him. And then there’s the final punchline, a bit of delicious irony I wouldn’t dream of spoiling.

Dahl balances all these painful, awkward revelations with information about the disease itself (did you know that about 75 percent of people in the U.S. have herpes?). Usually, this sort of dry, “here’s the facts” delivery would slow the book to a halt, but Dahl keeps his wits about him and makes such sequences as lively as the more dramatic parts of his story. Anyone looking for ways to discuss large amounts of abstract information in a readable way should closely examine this book.

As with Small, Dahl’s visual vocabulary is his main strength. He has a real gift for caricature that serves him well here. Even when he’s drawing a party crowd, everyone seems like a unique individual, or goofball as the case may be. He even gives the disease — which he draws as a spiky little protozoa — a personality. It chides him, goads him and occasionally completely envelops him, depending upon his state of mind.

Given the nature of its subject matter, Monsters could easily turn into an unreadable self-pity party. But Dahl is too smart — and funny — cartoonist than that. It’s that sense of humor, and even downright playfulness, that ultimately makes Monsters such a delightful, warm read. And that’s certainly something I never thought I’d say about a book about Herpes.

Crumb's The Book of Genesis

The Book of Genesis Illustrated
by Robert Crumb
WW Norton, 224 pages $24.95.

It’s a pretty safe bet that whatever book you pictured in your feverish little brain when you heard the phrase “Robert Crumb adapts Genesis” will never match, or perhaps even compare to, the actual product. When surrounded by as much anticipation and hype as this book has been, (virtually every blogger on the block has declared this the de facto “book of the year,” or at least the “book they’re most looking forward to”) there is bound to be some disappointment.

That’s especially true if what you were expecting was anything more than the all-too-literal, note-for note interpretation that Crumb has ultimately produced (indeed, except for a phrase here and there, he seems to have left the sacred text intact). If you were hoping to see some sort of sly, satirical take on the Bible, sorry, but that’s not here. If you were expecting googly eyes and big feet, go elsewhere. There is the occasional bit of flop sweat, but otherwise, Crumb keeps his cartoony vibe in check. There’s not so much as an ounce of irony to be found.

That even extends to depicting the level of sex and brutal violence that these stories are so well known for. Surprisingly, for the guy who created the incestuous “Joe Blow,” he stays well within an R rating, avoiding any explicit, full-on depictions of genitalia or coitus. He’s not afraid to show naked bodies entwined or swords splitting heads, but he refuses to become too explicit, even when the text calls for it — his depiction of Onan masturbating is shown from the side, with no spurting penis to be found. I suspect that Crumb’s reasons for this have less to do with an attempt to cater to the religious audience or even the mainstream market place (they’re going to be turned off by the blood and breasts anyway) than Crumb’s refusal to pander. The overall tone here is one of respect, not towards the Christian or Jewish religion, but instead to the people and cultures and civilizations that inspired these stories.

The result a rich, introspective, at times frustrating, but ultimately rewarding book, that warrants repeated readings and forces the reader to re-examine their take on the first book of the Bible, as well as their attitude towards the artist himself.

There’s a danger here in adopting such a straightforward tone. The book could have easily, without the author’s intent, slipped toward the reverential, or ended up as some sort of stiff, Classics Illustrated-style adaptation that added nothing to the original work. And indeed some of the early “Creation” chapters have this “Picture Stories from the Bible” feel. But Crumb’s ultimately too good an illustrator and storyteller for any of that nonsense. Even though he holds himself strictly to a mostly nine-panel grid and hardly ever breaks out into one of those full-page or even half-page spreads he’s so good at, Genesis remains a compelling, dramatic account.

What Crumb ultimately seems to draw Crumb to these stories is the various inherent dichotomies of the text — chaos versus order, barbarism versus civilization, secular versus spiritual and, in particular, men versus women. Anyone who’s read any version of Genesis knows that despite being a patriarchal text, the women of Genesis play a large and important role. Crumb highlights and emphasizes this role through his art. It may surprise and even frustrate those who continually write Crumb off as a misogynist, but his Genesis offers a decidedly feminist spin. His sympathy is clearly with Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel and the other wives in this saga (although he still portrays them in that gap-toothed, voluptuous, taut nippled style he’s so clearly enamored of) .

Indeed, in his lengthy (and very insightful) notes, Crumb, in trying to explain some odd or contradictory passages, suggests that many of the notable women in Genesis, like Sarah, might have been priestesses, or come from matriarchal societies. Indeed, he posits that many of the Genesis stories could be myths from a matriarchal society rewritten and reshaped for a new, patriarchal paradigm.

Whether or not that is the case, I do think that these women’s stories underline the limited but important role women played in these early societies. My wife has a saying that she likes to use when she’s feeling rather irate or put-upon by the rest of the household: “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” That’s a phrase that could easily see Sarah or Rebekah sputtering out in rage. Reduced to the role of childbearer, their sole importance centered on providing a male heir, it doesn’t seem that surprising that these omwen would exert their influence whenever possible, as Sarah does in forcing the banishment of her handmaid Haggar, or in Rachel and her sister Leah’s squabbles over their husband, Jacob.

As I suggested before, there’s little interplay between the images and text. What the narration describes is usually what you see. If there’s any subversion to be found in this book, however, it’s in the characters body posture or facial expressions. Crumb is very subtle here, but his it’s the minor details that make this book as striking as it ultimately is. If you get a chance to look at the book, notice the eyes of the character, what they’re looking at and how. Note the disgust on Joseph’s expression when he says “I’m not God am I?” Or how Dinah reacts when she’s led out of the House of Shechem after her brothers have slaughtered everyone inside. Or the terror on Rebekah’s face when she fears Esau may try to slay Jacob (and Isaac’s henpecked look in the following panel, as Rebekah rails at him). It’s in moments like these that Crumb is able to convey these character’s inner humanity. They no longer seem like unrecognizable archetypes, but real flesh-and blood humans.

The story I found myself the most drawn to is that of Joseph, the boy with the coat of many colors, who is sold into slavery by his brothers only to rise above them all through his cleverness and guile. I found myself surprisingly moved by Crumb’s depiction of this lost soul. His anger and pain upon rediscovering his treacherous brothers feels real and honest. The world Crumb portrays in Genesis seems like a harsh and unforgiving one, full of inky darkness and sweat and flesh, where brothers battle brothers, fathers battle sons and life, especially female life, isn’t worth much unless you have cattle, grain and water and lots of people to do your bidding. Still, it is not a place devoid of nobility or honor, or perhaps even love, though that last one seems to perhaps the hardest to find.

This is a book that is going to frustrate and annoy many. It frustrated me at times. Crumb is striving for something much subtler here than he’s attempted before and coming to it with a certain set of expectations is only going to lead to disappointment. Many critics will no doubt decry the book for going with obvious choices, like making God a big white guy with a long, flowing beard.

But Crumb doesn’t seem as interested in completely rejiggering our perception of the text or playing against traditional norms as much as he is in skewing our perspective ever so slightly. There are insights to be gained in this adaptation. But it’s all in the eyes.

Momma had her little cough (from David Small’s Stitches) from Stitches: A Memoir… on Vimeo.

Crumb's The Book of Genesis

As Tom Spurgeon reported on Friday, WW Norton is offering a limited edition slipcase of Robert Crumb’s highly anticipated adaptation of The Book of Genesis that comes with a signed print. The cost? A mere $500. Amazon.com has the book listed for only $315, a relative bargain by any standard (it also seems to be the cheapest price on the Net right now based on my admittedly quick perusal). There will only be 250 copies of this edition available, so order yours now. You are going to be ordering one right? C’mon, confess, who among you is going say ‘heck with fixing the washer and dryer’ and pick one of these up instead?