They Don't Care About Us

Before the recent success of one-shot graphic "novels" like Blankets and J.Edgar Hoover:A Graphic Biography, all comic stories that I know of used to be serialized. Yes, this means that Maus, Watchmen, Cerebus, Ghost World, and most every other work of that nature published prior to this decade was originally produced in the thin, softcover comic issues (I've heard them called "floppies" that many new graphic novel snobs sneer at. Recently, I've done a lot of thinking about the fiction genre, and how it has a similar history to comics. Fiction was not always well-respected, and was considered more appropriate for kids than adults. Fiction was also serialized...it used to be unusual for a novel to come out as a one-shot, just as it is still more common for comics to be serialized today.

But fiction isn't really serialized anymore...and lately, it seems that more and more comics are skipping the traditional issue-by-issue release and going straight to book form. This means no amusing advertisements to look back on, no short 1-2 page "filler" comics or pages that display bonus artwork by other artists or fans. I originally read Dan Clowes' Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron in book form, which included the story alone. Years later, in a Seattle comic book store, I found some issues of Eightball, Clowes' comic series where Velvet Glove... was originally serialized. One issue contained an advertisement (not a parody) for a soundtrack to the comic which could be purchased by anyone. The soundtrack, by the band "Victor Banana," has a song for each chapter, cover art by Clowes, and vocals by Tim Hensley, another Fantagraphics cartoonist. Doesn't that sound like fun? It is obviously convenient to bind a story in a single book, free of advertisements or other clutter. It's easier to carry, and the reader doesn't have to sort through various pages of filler or other stories if they'd prefer to follow a single plot. But the above example hints that if serialization fades out entirely, there's a lot we'll be missing out on.

Here's another example: It's a page from the original run of Franny (of Franny and Zooey fame) in The New Yorker. I found it in the library's bound periodicals collection and photocopied it and then scanned it for you so you would have a visual aid! Please don't sue me, J.D. Salinger. This is fair use, right? A small snippet for educational purposes, and a review?


See? Isn't this neat? Look, the ads take up more space than the actual story does. Obviously, you'd want to get the book at some point. But for the first time reading this in the serialized form, isn't it cool to see all this contextual information? Perhaps Franny might have worn a dress like the one on the left. Or maybe Holden stayed at a hotel like the one in the lower right hand corner. It was only $4.00 for a single.

My point is, all the extra stuff that isn't the actual novel may clutter the pages, but it's also part of a historical document. It shows the kind of lifestyle these characters lived, or were at least heavily exposed to. Sometimes I look up old advertisements on the Internet for my own amusement or reference, but I never think, "Oh, I bet Franny went to a cafe like that, or smoked cigarettes like that." Not unless I see the story and the ads side by side like this do I make that connection. Zooey is even better:


The most interesting ad on this page is the one on the bottom right corner. Exactly what kind of camp are we talking about here? Again, the ads provide a lot of information about the slang used at the time, the ignorance, and questionable sales ethics; information that the actual articles and stories in a publication may ignore or shy away from. The pages including Franny and Zooey didn't overlap with any blackface advertisements, but such ads existed in the same volumes. Even as late as the mid-50s. But all of this is a part of our history, and someone put a lot of thought into writing these elaborate old ads, or drawing/painting the illustrations. Not everyone had TVs in those days, certainly not in color, and in addition to providing a context for articles and stories, many of the ads are extremely beautiful, creative, and well-crafted.

In addition to acting as an ads/fun filler archive, serialization also allows readers, via "letters to the editor," to communicate with the creator/publisher during production of a story. Surely reader mail has had some effect on the plotlines and/or artwork of serialized comics and, earlier, novels. Without this communication, would a horrid inker (like, say, on par with Ty Templeton on The Exterminators) be commissioned to work on hundreds of pages, with no opportunity for outside protest along the way? Will creators shy away from experimental creative asides (like the soundtrack mentioned above), as they are typically absent from novels and anthologies? Has the slow fade of serialization affected the quality of fiction novels in any way, and will it affect the quality of comics in the future? Perhaps this is something I should research. This blog entry isn't very well researched; it's basically full of remembered information and personal musings.

When I find an article in an online database, it is free of ads and filler. This is good, because my print quota would quickly run out if every other page had a giant plug for Campbell's Cream of Asparagus soup or a recipe for a fancy celery-filled Jello mold that has nothing to do with my research. But by now it should be clear that the filler still has a very important purpose. However, it looks like those bits of history are heading for the dumpster or at least for storage, and current trends indicate that, in the near future, most comics, at least those targeted towards adults, might be published as one-shots, ending this archiving marriage of interesting stories within a greater cultural context. People don't really hang onto trashy magazines or advertising fliers. The only issues I hold onto are comic books, unless a magazine contains an article of a major historical event.

By the way, libraries weed books that are unpopular, but I didn't check out those giant, heavy, brittle New Yorker volumes, and returned them to their proper place on the shelf when I was done combing through them. I believe they were last checked out in the 1960s. One would think that only someone with my unique idiosyncracies, who is graduating next year anyway, would enjoy combing through 60-year-old periodicals as a pastime. But there's no way to tell, is there? Other than a careful viewing of library security camera footage.

Fun fact: Cosmopolitan (not in Syracuse's bound periodicals collection, but available at my old college) didn't used to be a cheap rag for cheap hoydens. It was a classy magazine that, in the early 20th century, taught women neat stuff like how to cook an omelet over an open fire. I thought maybe it was a different publication with the same name.

OKAY KIDS WAKE UP! Here's that silly comic I promised you earlier! It's a parody of a 40's-style prep school advertisement. You know, when I was a young girl, my mom used to put a "new" used book underneath piles of laundry I was supposed to put away. Eventually, I just knew a book would be there and took it without putting away the laundry, but hopefully you read my "boring" article anyway, rather than skipping to the end. And please let me know what you think of it (the article and/or anything else in this blog)!

As always, if the text is difficult to read, click on the image and it will appear in a new window and a new, larger size.



Ugh, my face is so greasy, breaking out. and I skipped the gym again today in favor of drawing the above spoof. It's like I'm 14 years old again, only physically, not mentally like always. It's the blog's fault. And yes, spellcheck, blog is a word now.

After awhile, dystophile!