As I've mentioned before in this column, I disdain those privileged, pretentious or otherwise old-school notions of what it means to be literary. If a book makes you feel and imagine in startlingly new ways, what does it matter if it isn't considered serious literature? What does serious literature even refer to, anyways? When I think of the words "serious literature," I envision, at a party of different books, that one grumpy book off in the corner who goes out of his way to make every conversation he enters about his own pessimistic opinions.
One of the lamest things about this commonly perceived literary hierarchy is that it denigrates the value of science fiction, fantasy and graphic novels. I've always been a passionate advocate of graphic novels and comic books as a vital part of any well-balanced literary diet and I'll often mention one or two of them when asked about my favorite books.
To be honest, when I rant and rave against the evils of this supposed literary hierarchy, I must admit that to some extent I'm inventing a boogeyman. In recent years, the graphic novel has been fairly widely accepted as worthy of the same degree and type of critical praise as the traditional novel. "Maus" (1991), an illustrated telling of the story of a Holocaust survivor and his family, won the Pulitzer Prize in 1992, becoming the first graphic novel to do so. Novels like "Watchmen" (1987) and "V for Vendetta" (1989) have accrued great success and critical praise, eventually earning their own film adaptations.
My experience with graphic novels actually began with "Maus," which I read as a part of a history class in high school. "Maus" is an emotionally gripping read, with a cartoonish art style (featuring human characters drawn as animals) that serves to highlight the morbidity and inhumanity of the subject manner. The use of a 1950s-era cartoon style helped to mess with readers' expectation, not only emphasizing the indescribable horror of the Holocaust, but also, through the metaphorical use of animal imagery, demonstrating the absurdity of racism. "Maus" broke barriers as an immensely popular graphic novel that took on serious issues in an unconventional and insightful way, showcasing how comics can take on serious and realist drama. However, that's not to say that the more typical kinds of comic books haven't also been deemed praiseworthy in recent years.
Unlike many fans of comics and graphic novels, I didn't read tons of comic books when I was younger. In fact, it was only a few years ago that I began to explore these kinds of illustrated stories. I recall reading "Watchmen" when I was 17 or so, and being blown away by its stellar mix of fanciful imagination and striking questions about the fallibility of humanity and the present historical moment. The novel managed to reconcile the picaresque and the profound, using the structure of a superhero story to interrogate the American fascination with superheroes, heroes, celebrities and politicians.
I think one of the reasons I've always found graphic novels so compelling is that they offer such an incredible visual energy and artistry while retaining the introspective benefits of the literary novel. Graphic novels can tell visually breathtaking stories, but because they are books that one picks up and reads in a quiet place at one's own pace, they don't overwhelm in the way that films do. Rather they aim for the more intimate relationship of the novel or the short story. With a comic, a reader can take in beautiful images full of motion and color, but that reader can still engage with it in the thoughtful and quiet way one would with a standard novel.
Book(s) of the week: Everything I've mentioned, plus "Batman: The Killing Joke" (1988).
Kevin Criscione is a junior majoring in English. He can be reached at kevincriscione@gmail.com.
