Gave me an opportunity to tackle something I’ve been noticing lately. A hell of a lot of the graphic novels I’m reading nowadays — particularly those that characterize themselves as “literary”, whatever the hell THAT means — strike me as schematic and plot-driven. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the clean, steel-trap logic of sudden reversals and ironic comeuppance; they provide a pulpy satisfaction.
This book pokes at some darker emotional/psychological ideas and resolves with a kind of obliqueness and ambiguity that’s just chewier, richer. Truer, if that makes sense.
It’s not the willful, self-satisfied opacity that dogs so damn many “art-comix”, it’s just a refreshingly complicated story about sex and society that stays with you.
I dunno; I’ll write more about this whole issue soon. In the meantime: Check Sailor Twain out.