my year in graphic novels/poetry, 2010

graphic novels
Swallow Me Whole by Nate Powell
I’m not a good reader of graphic novels, as I may have mentioned. The ones I really like (Fun Home is always the one that comes to mind) I don’t like as much as novels and wish were novels—I finish them in a sitting and want more, more words, not pictures. The pictures don’t stay with me in the same way that well-turned descriptions do, and the speed of the encounter presses too lightly on my attention. It’s like the difference between the fully recognized complex dreams I have at night and the sweaty frayed ones I have when I am forced to nap.

Still, I try graphic novels a few times a year, recognizing that the problem is mine. (Two that have worked for me just as they are, now that I’m thinking about it: Maus and What It Is. Then I think for a second more and realize that those all, along with Fun Home, are memoir/bio, not novels.) The Millions mentioned this one, and when I saw it displayed at the main library while I was there to pick up fiction one morning, I checked it out. On the way home I swung by Whole Foods and inadvertently read the entire book sitting in the café area eating roasted beets.

The story, about two teenage siblings in a family shot through with mental illness, pulled me right in, and the dark art, murky and full of insects and movement, felt terrifying in the face of mid-winter sunshine, organic vegetables, and clean people with their white Macs open on every other table. I sat with a biodegradable fork in my hand and read the entire unpredictable book. If I could get around my issues with graphic novels, I might love this one. As always, I wished for more words. My favorite graphic novel of the year.

Asterios Polyp by David Mazzucchelli
Beautiful lines in the art here—from the furniture to the faces to the clothing (the suits are divine), it’s a big swooping festival of curves. The book is heavy and glossy, like a textbook, and like a textbook, was full of things I knew nothing about.

“From the vantage of two thousand years, the span between 259 B.C. and 210 B.C. may seem negligible to someone living today, but (Asterios could tell you better than I) each of those eighteen thousand days must have been as precious and unpredictable as this one. After all, who knows which day will be his last?

To live (as I understand it) is to exist within a conception of time. But to remember is to vacate the very notion of time.

Every memory, no matter how remote its subject, takes place “now,” at the moment it’s called up in the mind. The more something is recalled, the more the brain has a chance to refine the original experience, because every memory is a re-creation, not a playback.”

Logicomix by Apostolos Doxiadis and Christos H. Papadimitriou (art by Alecos Papadatos and Annie DiDonna)
A nice presentation of the history of Logic in philosophy and the sorts of men who were its founders. In short, about those men: mental health issues. I will admit that my eyes unfocused over many of the more hardcore explanations of logic, math, and Greek drama. This is mostly about Bertrand Russell and framed by his lectures, which slipped into flashbacks about his life and history. Outside of that framework, the writers and artists discuss logic and how to tell the story. A nice dog, Manga, who was far more cartoonish than the humans, reminded me of my landlord’s hopelessly dim but amiable dog. I fear I will not remember most of this book, with the deeper fear being that I’m not smart enough for it.

poetry
The Painted Bed by Donald Hall
Poems almost entirely to/about his wife, Jane Kenyon, now dead of cancer for years. His house in New Hampshire, the dog Gus, and her final time with him all appear repeatedly, as well as his returning lusts and how impossible it is to satisfy them as an old widower. Several heartbreaking moments.

A Single Hurt Color by Andrew Demcak
One of my regular librarians—the nicest one, the one most prone to cracking a small joke or letting me in on some small detail about library behind-the-scenes drama—turns out to be a poet. While skimming the New Release shelf I picked up a book of poetry, and there was his picture on the back. Of the two collections of his I checked out, this one is my favorite. I appreciated the local notes (there are owls in the tree in my yard too), the imagery, and the ways he played with sound in some poems. It feels good to genuinely like things by nice people. A few lines:

“Counting the restless hours,
coyote thickened.” from California Night #3

“Knives lining a drawer: the first jury in its wooden box.” from Juice

“His hull more float than groan.” from Subtidal Zone (say it out loud—it will make your tongue feel good)

Catching Tigers in Red Weather by Andrew Demcak
The second collection of his I checked out. It’s all in couplets, and I found that hard to concentrate on after the first few poems. There was also something distracting happening with the verbs (too many gerunds?).

Given Sugar, Given Salt by Jane Hirshfield
This was not a poetry-heavy year, but even if it had been, I think this would have been one of my favorites. I’ve read Hirshfield before, and every time, I find myself tugged between slowing down and savoring individual lines and rushing to get the next emotional hit. The poems are fairly simple, not overworked or tangled, and the images are accessible but benefit from rereading and thought.

“Fate loosens it grip. The bruises stay.” from Identity

“Under the surface, something that whispers,
‘Anything can be done.’

For horses, horseflies. For humans, shame.” from For Horses, Horseflies

and one whole poem (there were many I wanted to copy out in their entirety)

“Tree

It is foolish
to let a young redwood
grow next to a house.

Even in this
one lifetime,
you will have to choose.

That great calm being,
this clutter of soup pots and books—

Already the first branch-tips brush at the window.
Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.”

Next time: memoir, with sex addicts and writers and depression and dogs (sometimes all at the same time!).

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