By Chris Ware New York Times Book Review, 10/26/00: Chris Ware's work appears in a Chicago newspaper, New City, the editors of which decided many years ago to give his work the dignity it deserves, allowing it a full page, each and every week, in color. ''Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth'' is the novel-length culmination of five years of these installments. Ware has developed a following devoted to his excruciatingly precise and delicate artwork and, just as important, to his frankly stunning design, evidence of which knocks a reader back before the spine is bent: The book's dust jacket actually folds out into a large, two-sided poster that illuminates the lineage of the characters within and includes a description of the book's hero, Jimmy, in the form of a personal ad: ''Hello. My name is Jimmy. I am five feet eleven and one half inches tall, and I hold an average weight. . . . Music and dancing are another part of the many activities that are pleasing and relaxing, though I am not always familiar with their aspects.'' The truth is, Jimmy would never place a personal ad, much less dance with his date. Jimmy Corrigan is a stooped-over and pathetic man of 36, so thoroughly agoraphobic that he can barely process and answer a question asked of him, let alone handle an encounter with a woman, a doctor -- least of all a father. His father has indeed been absent since he was very small, and he's grown up with a mother we come to know as pestering but who, in her younger days, was something of a swinging bachelorette. At one point in Jimmy's youth, mother and son attend a classic car show where Jimmy meets an actor in a superhero costume. The man, feigning interest in Jimmy but actually smitten with Jimmy's mother, takes them both to dinner and then back to their house, where he spends the night. In the morning he tries to sneak past Jimmy, who is eating cereal in the kitchen. Nimbly, he gives Jimmy the mask from his costume, pats him on the head and asks him to tell his mother, ''I had a real good time.'' His father-figure problems explode when Jimmy receives a call from his real father, who wants finally to meet his grown son. Jimmy agrees and flies from his home in Chicago to suburban Michigan; when they finally see each other, Superman the father is not. They eat at a fast-food place and then (on, remember, their first night together) Jimmy's father suggests they rent a movie (''How about a comedy? Do you like comedies?''). The moment's pathos derives from its utter believability. Interwoven throughout are scenes from the boyhood of Jimmy's grandfather, James, who grows up motherless on the South Side of Chicago in the shadow of the 1893 Columbian Exposition. James's father is overbearing and overworked, and James finds no solace at home or at school, where he's victim, again and again, to acceptance given and then taken away. We read James's story knowing that something horrible will come of his relationship with his father, and in time, at the top of the Exposition's golden dome (Ware's architectural renderings are incredible; see facing page), it does. But when it seems the story could not get any more bleak, it bleakens. Back in present-day Michigan, a series of freak accidents -- his father's car is stolen, Jimmy is hit by a truck and later meets a stepsister he never knew he had -- enlivens the story, even while it's getting increasingly Jobian. All the while, Ware's sublime artwork, somehow both meticulous and utterly free, leavens the mood. Ware is the most versatile and innovative artist the medium has known, and though it's unlikely that anyone soon will tell a story as powerfully as did Spiegelman in ''Maus,'' in terms of sheer aesthetic virtuosity Ware's book is arguably the greatest achievement of the form, ever. I just finished this book this morning. Fantastic, especially if you appreciate graphic novels. Gorgeous, touching, and pathetic. Highly recommended. |
Sunday . April 21 . 2002 . 7:18pm |
michelle's book club I'm sad because I'm almost done with my Audio Book of Lolita, having started tape 7 of 8 during my jog yesterday. I'm going to need to find a new Book on Tape, but I'm afraid that it won't be as good as my first. Right now, I'm thinking of The Grapes of Wrath, another book that I'm ashamed to say that I haven't read all the way through yet, despite the fact that I'm a big Steinbeck fan. Incidentally, there's a new audio edition of The Grapes of Wrath, narrated by Gary Sinese (a.k.a. Lieutenant Dan), but I can't seem to find it on Amazon.com. If you find the Gary Sinese edition anywhere, please let me know. Also incidentally, Joe's sister refers to hemorrhoids as "the grapes of wrath." Heh. Most people at my high school read Grapes in the eighth grade, but for some reason, my English teacher that year chose other books for us to read instead. The Chosen. Brave New World. Black Boy. And the requisite Hamlet. That was a good year for English class reading, but I have to admit, I don't remember that much about the plot of Black Boy. Non-sequitur list of books that they made me read in high school that I love to this day, even though I can't really say that I read them all that carefully when they were first assigned: To Kill a Mockingbird (7th grade) I had, and have to this day, a huge crush on Atticus. Of Mice and Men (7th grade) An all time favorite. He just wanted to pet the rabbits! Damn you, cruel fate! Animal Farm (8th grade) I have edition of this book illustrated by the awesome Ralph Steadman, which quite nicely depicts Mollie looking silly and vain with her hair ribbons. Brave New World (8th grade) Great book, even though I failed to enjoy any of Aldous Huxley's other works, Island, Ape and Essence et al. The Chosen (8th grade) I wish I had photographic memory like Danny. Warning: no matter how much you loved The Chosen, do not read the sequel, entitled The Promise. It is The Sucks. The Catcher in the Rye (9th grade) What nice little high school student doesn't love Catcher? 1984 (9th grade) Ooh, scary, even though it was already 1992 by the time I read it. Death of a Salesman (10th grade) A man is not a piece of fruit! Invisible Man (11th grade) Psst...he wasn't actually invisible, not really. Another Country (12th grade) A book about damaged New Yorkers. Books they made me read in high school that I can barely remember reading at all, which I probably why I did so badly on all those pop quizzes: Jane Eyre (7th grade) Boring, though the locked-up crazy wife piqued my attention for a few minutes. Black Boy (8th grade) I think it was about racism or something. Tale of Two Cities (8th grade) This is probably a good book, it's my own fault for not reading it very carefully. All I can remember is this one scene in the beginning where a wine barrel breaks in the street, and all the people are drinking it off the ground. Pride and Prejudice (9th grade) As a rule, I hate any book where they wear corsets. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (9th grade) "Because...he's in a cage." (tm Ben Stiller) The Scarlet Letter (11th grade) Whatever, slutto. Too allegorical. The bad guy is Chillingsworth? The kid is Pearl? Please. I wholeheartedly endorse any book on the former list, and am somewhat embarrassed about being too lowbrow to enjoy the books on the latter list. I should probably give those a second shot at some point. Wait, no, I don't apologize for disliking Jane Eyre or Pride and Prejudice. Those were just straight up boring. xo Michelle |
Bikini Briefs |
By Chris Ware New York Times Book Review, 10/26/00: Chris Ware's work appears in a Chicago newspaper, New City, the editors of which decided many years ago to give his work the dignity it deserves, allowing it a full page, each and every week, in color. ''Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth'' is the novel-length culmination of five years of these installments. Ware has developed a following devoted to his excruciatingly precise and delicate artwork and, just as important, to his frankly stunning design, evidence of which knocks a reader back before the spine is bent: The book's dust jacket actually folds out into a large, two-sided poster that illuminates the lineage of the characters within and includes a description of the book's hero, Jimmy, in the form of a personal ad: ''Hello. My name is Jimmy. I am five feet eleven and one half inches tall, and I hold an average weight. . . . Music and dancing are another part of the many activities that are pleasing and relaxing, though I am not always familiar with their aspects.'' The truth is, Jimmy would never place a personal ad, much less dance with his date. Jimmy Corrigan is a stooped-over and pathetic man of 36, so thoroughly agoraphobic that he can barely process and answer a question asked of him, let alone handle an encounter with a woman, a doctor -- least of all a father. His father has indeed been absent since he was very small, and he's grown up with a mother we come to know as pestering but who, in her younger days, was something of a swinging bachelorette. At one point in Jimmy's youth, mother and son attend a classic car show where Jimmy meets an actor in a superhero costume. The man, feigning interest in Jimmy but actually smitten with Jimmy's mother, takes them both to dinner and then back to their house, where he spends the night. In the morning he tries to sneak past Jimmy, who is eating cereal in the kitchen. Nimbly, he gives Jimmy the mask from his costume, pats him on the head and asks him to tell his mother, ''I had a real good time.'' His father-figure problems explode when Jimmy receives a call from his real father, who wants finally to meet his grown son. Jimmy agrees and flies from his home in Chicago to suburban Michigan; when they finally see each other, Superman the father is not. They eat at a fast-food place and then (on, remember, their first night together) Jimmy's father suggests they rent a movie (''How about a comedy? Do you like comedies?''). The moment's pathos derives from its utter believability. Interwoven throughout are scenes from the boyhood of Jimmy's grandfather, James, who grows up motherless on the South Side of Chicago in the shadow of the 1893 Columbian Exposition. James's father is overbearing and overworked, and James finds no solace at home or at school, where he's victim, again and again, to acceptance given and then taken away. We read James's story knowing that something horrible will come of his relationship with his father, and in time, at the top of the Exposition's golden dome (Ware's architectural renderings are incredible; see facing page), it does. But when it seems the story could not get any more bleak, it bleakens. Back in present-day Michigan, a series of freak accidents -- his father's car is stolen, Jimmy is hit by a truck and later meets a stepsister he never knew he had -- enlivens the story, even while it's getting increasingly Jobian. All the while, Ware's sublime artwork, somehow both meticulous and utterly free, leavens the mood. Ware is the most versatile and innovative artist the medium has known, and though it's unlikely that anyone soon will tell a story as powerfully as did Spiegelman in ''Maus,'' in terms of sheer aesthetic virtuosity Ware's book is arguably the greatest achievement of the form, ever. I just finished this book this morning. Fantastic, especially if you appreciate graphic novels. Gorgeous, touching, and pathetic. Highly recommended. |
