That other Alice

As reported earlier, Cul de Sac creator Richard Thompson has put the strip into reruns for a few weeks while he undergoes some Parkinson's therapy, but, since Sundays are generally on a different schedule and I don't remember ever seeing this one, I think it's new.

And I don't much care if it's a rerun because I really like it.

First of all, it's a blow-away because of his interpretations of Tenniel, with Alice-comments in the margins but also  with bits of culdesackery amid Tenniel's art, particularly in the third example.

You've probably noticed, however, that I am more involved in the storytelling aspect of cartooning than in the art itself. That is, the art needs to contribute to the mood, the purpose and the actual narrative, but, as a writer, I  have neither the training nor the aesthetic sense to make meaningful comments about technique.

Which puts me firmly in the camp of "Good writing can save bad art, but good art can't save bad writing."

I've been a fan of "Prince Valiant" for many years because my grandparents lived down the road from Hal Foster and my uncle was one of the neighborhood kids who would drop by the studio. As a result, he had some of the collections, which I found fascinating -- a picture book with real content, a novel with lots of pictures. A gateway to Tintin, which he later exposed me to.

But, while the art has remained at a high level through the succeeding artists on the strip, there was a period not so long ago where the writing had descended to a level where you expected Brave Sir Robin to turn up next, and I couldn't be bothered with the strip. (It got much better and now seems back on track, though, as in most of these cases, Foster's vision remains canonical.)

And there are other comics, and particularly comic books and graphic novels, that are highly praised by the aficianados but that I. Just. Don't. Get.

I've come to realize that it's because the art is excellent but there's just no coherent story being told, or it's a $30 book with a storyline that nobody old enough to be able to afford a $30 book should be able to read without eyerolls.

I don't know a lot about art, but I know a lot about storytelling, and so I can tell good narrative illustration from bad. And I know that good art won't save bad writing. So, as Justice Stewart said of another type of art, I may not be able to intelligibly define it, but I know it when I see it.

This has been something of a godsend to my collaborators, because I've pretty much given up trying to tell them how to illustrate a story. I simple email them a chapter and they send me back sketches and I'm nearly always delighted with the results. (This is one of Chris Baldwin's illustrations for Hooch.)

And -- unless it's a continuity issue -- when I do have quibbles over something they've done, I'm invariably wrong. I'm the writer, they're the artists.

But there is a difference between knowing your strengths and being a philistine. I admire the work of Hal Foster, but he and Arthur Rackham (who, by the way, also did a rather good job of drawing Alice) aren't the only competent artists in the world, and good illustration does not have to look like their work or even be particularly realistic at all.

For instance, Maus could only be illustrated in the style Art Spiegelman brought to it.

To begin with, by populating the book with mice, cats and pigs, he lets the reader take a step back. And by using a consciously cartoony, rather than realistic, style, he gives the reader a little more distance.

This, then, allows him to punch the reader in the gut just as hard as he wants, and he does that with the story itself.

That's the only way it can work. A more "polished" and realistic style would result in a book that would be like "The Sorrow and the Pity," the four-hour-long Holocaust documentary that Alvie Singer takes Annie Hall to see, but that, in real life, nobody wants to have to sit through unless, like Alvie, they are already obsessed with the topic.

Which brings us back to Cul de Sac and the choices that Richard Thompson makes in his storytelling.

Last month, the Bakersfield Californian dropped Fred Bassett in favor of Cul de Sac, which is a bit like taking away someone's burger and fries and replacing them with moussaka.

Whether or not moussaka is an acquired taste, it's certainly a shock to a palate tuned to burgers and fries, and those who opened their newspapers expecting Fred Bassett were not amused by what the waiter had decided to put in front of them instead. "I haven't seen such instantaneous dislike for Cul de Sac since the strip started in '07 (and it makes me feel young again!)." - Richard Thompson

And whether or not he did it consciously -- and, obviously, if this is a rerun, he didn't -- Richard provides a commentary on the phenomenon in today's strip: Alice's mother wants to expose her to that other Alice, to introduce her to a timeless children's classic.

Maybe it's a little too soon and the book is over Alice's head, but a more credible explanation is that Alice wants what she is used to, "Little Oopsy and the Enchanted Sippy Cup," a story that holds no surprises and little charm.

And it's all told in a strip interspersed with examples of how Richard can draw when that's how he chooses to draw, and when that is the appropriate style for the story he has decided to tell.

I really don't much care whether today's strip was based on a conscious decision or just flowed from his subconscious. It doesn't matter, and critics are always finding things that artists and writers didn't intentionally include in their work.

But intentions are only part of the artistic process. The symbols and undercurrents don't have to be purposely placed in the work, and an artist can quite honestly deny them.

Still, it's like what the Irish say of the fairy folk, "I don't believe in them, but they're there."

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Comments

[Mary in Ohio]

Well, I like Fred Basset too, so I'm glad I can find both on the internet. (Since none of the papers in THIS area would DARE carry something like Cul de Sac - Get Fuzzy draws enough nasty letters to the editor.) And good luck to Richard with his therapy!

[Mark Jackson]

Spiegelman was obsessively intentional about the artistic choices he made during the production of /Maus/ (which spanned 13 years). He discusses many of these (and much else) at great length in /MetaMaus/; the accompanying DVD includes a digital reference copy of /Maus/, audio files of interviews with Spiegelman's father and others, and a trove of related material. I found it riveting.