Category: Reading

Gaiman, Miller & Moore – a literary education in American comic books

First, I must acknowledge the irony of this post title: I’m well aware that two of the “American” comic book writers whose work I’ll write about here aren’t American at all — Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore are English. Second, I also know that the works themselves are better categorized as graphic novels. Read on…

Friends and visitors to this blog will likely already know that I was born and raised in Japan. I grew up whiling away summer afternoons to the music of warblers and cicadas, reading Akira Toriyama, Machiko Hasegawa, Fujiko Fujio, and of course Hayao Miyazaki. Although I haven’t revisited my childhood reading of Toriyama’s Dr. Slump or Fujiko Fujio’s Doraemon, a complete seven-volume set of Miyazaki’s epic manga version of Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (which takes the story far beyond the 1984 movie) remains one of the great literary sagas to which I return regularly.

During an island getaway this summer (the air filled with the music of frogs and goldfinches), I reread Nausicaä in Japanese, and in so doing realized how little I actually know about comics in my other mother tongue. My only exposure to American comic books was through cousins I visited in America every few years. Reading G.I. Joe, Archie, and X-Men in the mid-80’s, I was more entertained by the silly (now classically nostalgic) ads for Sea Monkeys. Even as a pre-teen, the newsprint felt cheap, the artwork struck me as jarring, and the plot lines couldn’t compare to the domestic satire of Sazae-san or the wonderfully wacky adventures of Doraemon and his hapless pal Nobita.

(In contrast, I’ve admired and deeply enjoyed the new breed of movies in the last ten years based on superheroes, from the Sam Raimi Spider-Man trilogy and various Marvel Universe films leading up to The Avengers to the heartbreakingly spectacular first two movies in Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy — heartbreaking for both the loss of Heath Ledger and for the underwhelming conclusion to the trilogy. Without the baggage of a childhood full of American comic books, I’m able to watch these movies with no expectations about origin myths, anticipated romance, or primary nemeses.)

Compounded by the intense sense of cultural dislocation I felt during Emerald City Comicon earlier in the year, I determined to correct at least some of my comic book illiteracy by tackling four of the most iconic works in the genre — Watchmen and V for Vendetta by Alan Moore, The Sandman Vol. 1: Preludes & Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman, and Batman: The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller.

These four graphic novels have served as the best introduction to American comic books an uninitiated adult reader like me could hope for. In the posts that follow over the coming days and weeks, I won’t debate the place each of these books holds within the literary canon, so strict formalists should gird themselves for a bit of reader-response criticism with a bit of the historical-critical method thrown in.

Stay tuned…

The Humans Who Went Extinct by Clive Finlayson

This past year, my reading has alternated between classic science fiction and non-fiction archaeology or anthropology — two very different literary forms that encapsulate opposite ends of our shared and potential experience. Along the way, I’ve discovered three books that truly span the breadth of human history, from past, present, to future. No three books alone could represent millions of years completely, of course, but these books do provide a concise overview, and though written by three different authors, they complement each other to form an overarching story of human existence.

I’ll be posting separate discussions of each book, with a wrap-up of the three after I’m done with them individually. Let’s begin with The Humans Who Went Extinct: Why Neanderthals Died Out and We Survived by evolutionary ecologist Clive Finlayson.

In The Humans Who Went Extinct, Finlayson supplements his direct experience excavating the last stronghold of the Neanderthals at Gorham’s Cave in Gibraltar with multi-disciplinary research for the causes of human extinction. But humans aren’t extinct, right? Wrong.

Some of our close human cousins didn’t quite make it. Homo erectus flourished in Asia for hundreds of thousands of years while Homo neanderthalensis did the same in Europe, long before our own ancestors ever stepped foot outside Africa. Both species made tools similar to our direct ancestors, and DNA evidence indicates that Neanderthals were most likely capable of speech. The received wisdom of contemporary paleoanthropology and archaeology takes the stance that anatomically and behaviorally modern humans (Finlayson conveniently shortens this to the straightforward “Ancestors”) displaced our cousins when we left Africa and spread throughout the Eurasian continent.

Finlayson examines both the material culture of the Neanderthals and the ecological conditions across the past 125,000 years to argue that their environment degraded repeatedly — from dense forests that supported the ambush hunting style of the Neanderthals (as evidenced by their weapons) to steppe-savanna landscapes where herds or individual prey animals were few and far between and which required a fundamentally different set of technologies and behaviors to succeed.

Neanderthals were not able to adapt to the challenges and opportunities presented by the new, more open landscape. (And with one rare but crucial exception in Central Asia, neither were Ancestors.) The range of humans expanded and contracted with the ebb and flow of forests for thousands of years, placing populations under pressure to the point of local extinctions. Finlayson argues that Neanderthals (and Homo erectus) were pushed to the brink of extinction by the contraction of their traditional environments until the small pockets of survivors were no longer viable populations, cut off from each other and susceptible to one bad winter or outbreak of disease. The last Homo erectus lived on Java until as recently as 50,000 years ago, while Homo neanderthalensis held out at Gibraltar until 24,000 years ago.

Meanwhile, Finlayson suggests that Ancestors on the fringes of our traditional comfort zones were being forced to adapt or die. Most died. He traces the origin of the Gravettian culture to an adaptation by a founder population in Central Asia before about 30,000 years ago. The specific adaptations that enabled these people to survive were the centralized villages that served as home base — and most importantly information exchanges and surplus stockpiles — for the hunters, along with new technologies such as lighter, more portable stone tools that could be adapted to new projectile weapons necessary on the open plains. These people spread west to Europe and northeast across the Bering land bridge to the Americas.

Throughout The Humans Who Went Extinct, Finlayson illustrates how the tension between innovation by fringe populations and conservatism among otherwise stable core populations leads to only two possible results when their environments change. In most cases, environmental challenges have been too great and the vast majority of human diversity has not survived. But when the right opportunities happen to be present, the innovators who take advantage of challenges presented by their environment survive while conservatives who fail to do so die.

The impact of ecology on human success or failure is a theme that will appear again in the next two books we examine.

Bons mots (with special guests Einstein and Voltaire)

My wife asked me to pick up a copy of Advanced Banter while I was in Ireland, since we thought it wasn’t sold here in the States (it actually is, as If Ignorance Is Bliss, Why Aren’t There More Happy People?). I’ve never placed much stock in quotations, but it’s been fun finding pithy phrases from famous people to support my own opinions.

Albert Einstein HeadAs the three of you reading this will have noticed, I’ve done a bit of time travel in the last week, or rather, I’ve sent my favorite words and phrases back in time so that they appear on this blog in a more distributed manner than actually occurred in normal space-time. I will likely continue doing this in the future, so you’ll never know when Einstein might pop up and say something clever, such as, “People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

And thus, having used the theory of relativity to rationalize retroactive blog posts, I leave you with a particularly witty saying from Voltaire:

“A witty saying proves nothing.”