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Why Comics?: From Underground to Everywhere
The massive impact that comics have had on our culture becomes more and more clear every day, from the critically acclaimed musical Fun Home, based on Alison Bechdel’s groundbreaking comic, to the dozens of superhero films hitting cinemas every year. What is it that makes comics so special? What can this unique art form do that others can’t?
In Why Comics?, comics scholar Hillary Chute reveals the history of comics, underground comics (or comix), and graphic novels, through deep thematic analysis, and fascinating portraits of the fearless men and women behind them. As Scott McCloud revealed the methods behind comics and the way they worked in his classic Understanding Comics, Chute will reveal the themes that Comics handle best, and how the form is uniquely equipped to explore them.
The topics Why Comics? include:
• Why Disaster: with such major works focusing on disasters, from Art Spiegelman’s work, which covers the Holocaust and 9/11 to Keiji Nakazawa’s work covering Heroshima, comics find themselves uniquely suited to convey the scale and disorientation of disaster.
• Why Suburbs: through the work of Chris Ware and Charles Burns, Chute reveals the fascinating ways that Comics illustrate the quiet joys and struggles of suburban existence.
• Why Punk: With an emphasis on DIY aesthetics and rebelling against what came before, the Punk movement would prove to be a fertile ground for some of the most significant modern cartoonists, creating a truly democratic art form.
Chute has created an indispensable guide to comics for those new to the genre, or those who want to understand more about what lies behind their favorite works.
In Why Comics?, comics scholar Hillary Chute reveals the history of comics, underground comics (or comix), and graphic novels, through deep thematic analysis, and fascinating portraits of the fearless men and women behind them. As Scott McCloud revealed the methods behind comics and the way they worked in his classic Understanding Comics, Chute will reveal the themes that Comics handle best, and how the form is uniquely equipped to explore them.
The topics Why Comics? include:
• Why Disaster: with such major works focusing on disasters, from Art Spiegelman’s work, which covers the Holocaust and 9/11 to Keiji Nakazawa’s work covering Heroshima, comics find themselves uniquely suited to convey the scale and disorientation of disaster.
• Why Suburbs: through the work of Chris Ware and Charles Burns, Chute reveals the fascinating ways that Comics illustrate the quiet joys and struggles of suburban existence.
• Why Punk: With an emphasis on DIY aesthetics and rebelling against what came before, the Punk movement would prove to be a fertile ground for some of the most significant modern cartoonists, creating a truly democratic art form.
Chute has created an indispensable guide to comics for those new to the genre, or those who want to understand more about what lies behind their favorite works.
464 pages, Hardcover
First published December 6, 2017
67 people are currently reading
1279 people want to read
About the author
Hillary L. Chute
10 books38 followersHillary Chute is an American literary scholar and an expert on comics and graphic narratives.
Chute's work focuses on comics and graphic novels, contemporary fiction, visual studies, American literature, gender and sexuality studies, literature and the arts, critical theory, and media studies.
She is the author of Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics (Columbia University Press, 2010), Outside the Box: Interviews with Contemporary Cartoonists (University of Chicago Press, 2014), Disaster Drawn: Visual Witness, Comics, and Documentary Form (Harvard University Press, 2016), and Why Comics? From Underground to Everywhere (Harper, 2017). Her book Maus Now: Selected Writing, an edited volume, appeared from Pantheon in 2022.
She is also associate editor of Art Spiegelman’s MetaMaus (Pantheon, 2011), which won a National Jewish Book Award, among other prizes. She recently co-edited the Critical Inquiry special issue “Comics & Media” (University of Chicago Press, 2014), and in 2006 she co-edited the MFS: Modern Fiction Studies special issue “Graphic Narrative,” the first issue of a journal in the field of literature devoted to analyzing comics. She has written for publications including Artforum, Bookforum, The Believer, and Poetry.
She was associate professor of English, and an associate faculty member in the Department of Visual Arts at the University of Chicago before joining the Northeastern faculty as Distinguished Professor of English and Art + Design. Chute serves on the Executive Committee of Northeastern’s Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies Program. She is a comics and graphic novels columnist for the The New York Times Book Review.
Chute's work focuses on comics and graphic novels, contemporary fiction, visual studies, American literature, gender and sexuality studies, literature and the arts, critical theory, and media studies.
She is the author of Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics (Columbia University Press, 2010), Outside the Box: Interviews with Contemporary Cartoonists (University of Chicago Press, 2014), Disaster Drawn: Visual Witness, Comics, and Documentary Form (Harvard University Press, 2016), and Why Comics? From Underground to Everywhere (Harper, 2017). Her book Maus Now: Selected Writing, an edited volume, appeared from Pantheon in 2022.
She is also associate editor of Art Spiegelman’s MetaMaus (Pantheon, 2011), which won a National Jewish Book Award, among other prizes. She recently co-edited the Critical Inquiry special issue “Comics & Media” (University of Chicago Press, 2014), and in 2006 she co-edited the MFS: Modern Fiction Studies special issue “Graphic Narrative,” the first issue of a journal in the field of literature devoted to analyzing comics. She has written for publications including Artforum, Bookforum, The Believer, and Poetry.
She was associate professor of English, and an associate faculty member in the Department of Visual Arts at the University of Chicago before joining the Northeastern faculty as Distinguished Professor of English and Art + Design. Chute serves on the Executive Committee of Northeastern’s Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies Program. She is a comics and graphic novels columnist for the The New York Times Book Review.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 64 reviews
February 21, 2020
I have a lot of bones to pick with this book, but if I had to boil them down to one, I’d say that Chute is too giddy about listing every time a comic book is made into a movie or a TV show or anything, really, that’s not a comic book. Imagine if any other topic tried the same trick. “I’m a serious academic writing about Elizabethan literature for a popular audience, and Hamlet is a movie starring Mel Gibson.”
And so we learn what celebrities appear in the Ghost World movie (p275), what Tony Awards the Fun Home musical won (p385), what Oscars the Persepolis cartoon was nominated for (“France’s first animated film to be nominated etc.”) (p300) etc. We learn that Lynda Barry’s novel The Good Times Are Killing Me became an “award-winning off-Broadway play in 1993” (p287)—The Good Times Are Killing Me isn’t even a comic!
I would chalk this up to some nervous editor demanding that ignorant audiences be given something familiar (“…it was even adapted for MTV’s Liquid Television” (p146)), except the whole book reeks of this need for outside affirmation. Chris Ware’s comics are “beautiful enough to be collected in museums” (p158)! Comics are being written by “one of the most acclaimed public intellectuals of the last decade” (p98)! They’re being read by “cultural heroes” like Vonnegut and Fellini (p261)!
Everything is a commercial—not a commercial for “Team Comics,” really, but a commercial for commercials. It’s non-stop cheerleading. It’s not enough to say that Justin Green’s cousin is director William Friedkin, the book has to add that the Exorcist was a “smash hit” (p261). Did you know that Civil War is “the world’s highest grossing film in 2016” (no, dear reader, it’s “not about the US Civil War”) (p311).
Eventually this kind of flattery becomes an unconscious tick, like someone announcing the next guest on Jay Leno. Chute is the first person in decades to label the series Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos “popular” (p311).
The cheering just leads to absurdities. We note that Ware’s Building Stories “quickly sold out” (p159), which is fair enough, but we also note that Black Panther #1 “sold out quickly” (p98)—which makes no sense. I don’t expect Chute to stop and explain the vagaries of the direct market, but the truth is that every comic book issue sells out, almost without exception, by design, and that’s why only shills like Wizard Magazine have ever said a contemporary comic has sold out. I have to assume that Chute knows this, but was simply flailing around for something to prove how popular this comic was and got stuck.
Even more absurdly, we’re cautioned that “it’s hard to overestimate the importance of Sacco’s Palestine to the comics world and to contemporary political and popular culture in general” (p319). Look, Joe Sacco’s great! His importance in the “comics world” is not on the same level as things like Maus, Fun Home, or DC’s New 52 marketing blitz, but fine. Sacco is important to comics. But “popular culture in general” obviously has no idea who Sacco is! He’s not going to be a Jeopardy question. He’s not a name you can drop at Thanksgiving dinner. It’s hard to underestimate the importance of Joe Sacco to contemporary political culture (whatever that is).
“Novelist and critic Nick Hornby” is quoted approvingly as saying that Barry “seems to me to almost single-handedly justify the form” (p280) and—ok, I like Hornby fine, but “critic”? This isn’t Edmund Wilson here. And more importantly, as much as I love Lynda Barry, and I do, this statement is absurd. Try to imagine someone saying that Barry’s prose work Cruddy “single-handedly justifies” the novel. Nick Hornby is really saying, “I don’t know very much about art comics,” which is fine, except why would you quote that? Is it because Hornby’s book About a Boy became a smash hit film starring Hugh Grant?
Any attention from the mainstream media, no matter how silly, is trotted forth as validation. The New York Times praises Phoebe Gloeckner for “creating some of the edgiest work about young women’s lives in any medium” (p133) and rather than wonder why anyone outside a marketing exec would talk this way, we bask in the glow of approval and move on.
Did you know that Lynda Barry went to the same college as “lead members of the feminist riot grrrl bands Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney and peace activist Rachel Corrie” (p283)? This book drives me crazy! I won’t even talk about the really, really long and not-about-comics punk rock chapter.
Chute is a good interviewer, but her uncritical acceptance of artists’ statements on their work, which served her well in her collection of interviews Outside the Box, is poison to analysis. There’s far too much “Sacco is just as influenced by artists like Pieter Bruegel the Elder, the sixteenth-century Dutch painter, as he is by twentieth-century prose journalists like Hunter S. Thompson” (p320). And what are we supposed to make of a sentence like: “In terms of identity and futurity, Sattouf, after a difficult childhood, seems to have chosen a more flexible, and deeply felt, identity” (p347)?
There are a lot of great comics in this book, and if it introduces new readers to Chris Ware, Jaime Hernandez, Lynda Barry, Daniel Clowes, Phoebe Glockener, or Justin Green—hey, that’s wonderful. Chute at times pauses to do a close reading of a page, and when she does the book becomes smart and interesting. But most of it is like a slightly-dumbed down Entertainment Weekly article. These artists deserve a better introduction.
And so we learn what celebrities appear in the Ghost World movie (p275), what Tony Awards the Fun Home musical won (p385), what Oscars the Persepolis cartoon was nominated for (“France’s first animated film to be nominated etc.”) (p300) etc. We learn that Lynda Barry’s novel The Good Times Are Killing Me became an “award-winning off-Broadway play in 1993” (p287)—The Good Times Are Killing Me isn’t even a comic!
I would chalk this up to some nervous editor demanding that ignorant audiences be given something familiar (“…it was even adapted for MTV’s Liquid Television” (p146)), except the whole book reeks of this need for outside affirmation. Chris Ware’s comics are “beautiful enough to be collected in museums” (p158)! Comics are being written by “one of the most acclaimed public intellectuals of the last decade” (p98)! They’re being read by “cultural heroes” like Vonnegut and Fellini (p261)!
Everything is a commercial—not a commercial for “Team Comics,” really, but a commercial for commercials. It’s non-stop cheerleading. It’s not enough to say that Justin Green’s cousin is director William Friedkin, the book has to add that the Exorcist was a “smash hit” (p261). Did you know that Civil War is “the world’s highest grossing film in 2016” (no, dear reader, it’s “not about the US Civil War”) (p311).
Eventually this kind of flattery becomes an unconscious tick, like someone announcing the next guest on Jay Leno. Chute is the first person in decades to label the series Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos “popular” (p311).
The cheering just leads to absurdities. We note that Ware’s Building Stories “quickly sold out” (p159), which is fair enough, but we also note that Black Panther #1 “sold out quickly” (p98)—which makes no sense. I don’t expect Chute to stop and explain the vagaries of the direct market, but the truth is that every comic book issue sells out, almost without exception, by design, and that’s why only shills like Wizard Magazine have ever said a contemporary comic has sold out. I have to assume that Chute knows this, but was simply flailing around for something to prove how popular this comic was and got stuck.
Even more absurdly, we’re cautioned that “it’s hard to overestimate the importance of Sacco’s Palestine to the comics world and to contemporary political and popular culture in general” (p319). Look, Joe Sacco’s great! His importance in the “comics world” is not on the same level as things like Maus, Fun Home, or DC’s New 52 marketing blitz, but fine. Sacco is important to comics. But “popular culture in general” obviously has no idea who Sacco is! He’s not going to be a Jeopardy question. He’s not a name you can drop at Thanksgiving dinner. It’s hard to underestimate the importance of Joe Sacco to contemporary political culture (whatever that is).
“Novelist and critic Nick Hornby” is quoted approvingly as saying that Barry “seems to me to almost single-handedly justify the form” (p280) and—ok, I like Hornby fine, but “critic”? This isn’t Edmund Wilson here. And more importantly, as much as I love Lynda Barry, and I do, this statement is absurd. Try to imagine someone saying that Barry’s prose work Cruddy “single-handedly justifies” the novel. Nick Hornby is really saying, “I don’t know very much about art comics,” which is fine, except why would you quote that? Is it because Hornby’s book About a Boy became a smash hit film starring Hugh Grant?
Any attention from the mainstream media, no matter how silly, is trotted forth as validation. The New York Times praises Phoebe Gloeckner for “creating some of the edgiest work about young women’s lives in any medium” (p133) and rather than wonder why anyone outside a marketing exec would talk this way, we bask in the glow of approval and move on.
Did you know that Lynda Barry went to the same college as “lead members of the feminist riot grrrl bands Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney and peace activist Rachel Corrie” (p283)? This book drives me crazy! I won’t even talk about the really, really long and not-about-comics punk rock chapter.
Chute is a good interviewer, but her uncritical acceptance of artists’ statements on their work, which served her well in her collection of interviews Outside the Box, is poison to analysis. There’s far too much “Sacco is just as influenced by artists like Pieter Bruegel the Elder, the sixteenth-century Dutch painter, as he is by twentieth-century prose journalists like Hunter S. Thompson” (p320). And what are we supposed to make of a sentence like: “In terms of identity and futurity, Sattouf, after a difficult childhood, seems to have chosen a more flexible, and deeply felt, identity” (p347)?
There are a lot of great comics in this book, and if it introduces new readers to Chris Ware, Jaime Hernandez, Lynda Barry, Daniel Clowes, Phoebe Glockener, or Justin Green—hey, that’s wonderful. Chute at times pauses to do a close reading of a page, and when she does the book becomes smart and interesting. But most of it is like a slightly-dumbed down Entertainment Weekly article. These artists deserve a better introduction.
March 31, 2019
300319: good. art history, artist bios, concise essays. only problems: mostly american of narrow historical breadth, some generational/political influences, not much on contemporaneous art visual or verbal. nervous critical urge to validate medium. not as art but in expressive potential vs forms of art generally approved, such arguments are not too relevant for me: art is art and need no justification or agreement... (for me this problem is in the title: ‘why’...)...
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October 2, 2022The comics class I wish I’d been able to take!!
As someone who’s only a casual comics fan this was a rlly fantastic primer on classics of the mediums and what it is that comics do best. Particularly enjoyed the chapters Why Disaster, and Why War, and how comics is uniquely good at conveying the unspeakable. Though it’s in a different chapter there’s an image from Persepolis where a man is shown cut to pieces and it’s true what chute says that comics can capture something of the unnatural moral horror of the event that might seem clinical or gratuitous in a photo.
There’s also lots of happy and liberating stuff in here but my main take at From Chute is what a humanistic art form comics is. Emphasizing both the sympathetic nature of everyone, while never shying away, (even reveling!) in our grosser, baser aspects.
4.5
As someone who’s only a casual comics fan this was a rlly fantastic primer on classics of the mediums and what it is that comics do best. Particularly enjoyed the chapters Why Disaster, and Why War, and how comics is uniquely good at conveying the unspeakable. Though it’s in a different chapter there’s an image from Persepolis where a man is shown cut to pieces and it’s true what chute says that comics can capture something of the unnatural moral horror of the event that might seem clinical or gratuitous in a photo.
There’s also lots of happy and liberating stuff in here but my main take at From Chute is what a humanistic art form comics is. Emphasizing both the sympathetic nature of everyone, while never shying away, (even reveling!) in our grosser, baser aspects.
4.5
May 15, 2018
Well laid out, well written, thorough, and informative.
In terms of opinions though, I did not agree with all of her stances. That, however, is purely personal comic preferences. Chute clearly prefers autobiographic comics to fictional comics and I am the opposite. Example, she really like Crumb and I do not. He's a terrific artist, we agree on that, but I just really don't enjoy reading the subject matter. Different tastes, but the book is so well written that our differing opinions wasn't off putting. As in I did not get the impression that my taste, in a broad sense, was being put down but the author. My main criticism is that she uses the word 'quotidian' too much, accurately, but so much that it became annoying.
I would highly recommend this to anyone who is looking to expand their comics reading and is unsure where to start. Chute focuses on one or two creators per chapter but also gives examples of similar titles or creators throughout. Or, if you love comics and want to delve into the more academic side of things.
In terms of opinions though, I did not agree with all of her stances. That, however, is purely personal comic preferences. Chute clearly prefers autobiographic comics to fictional comics and I am the opposite. Example, she really like Crumb and I do not. He's a terrific artist, we agree on that, but I just really don't enjoy reading the subject matter. Different tastes, but the book is so well written that our differing opinions wasn't off putting. As in I did not get the impression that my taste, in a broad sense, was being put down but the author. My main criticism is that she uses the word 'quotidian' too much, accurately, but so much that it became annoying.
I would highly recommend this to anyone who is looking to expand their comics reading and is unsure where to start. Chute focuses on one or two creators per chapter but also gives examples of similar titles or creators throughout. Or, if you love comics and want to delve into the more academic side of things.
January 31, 2018
Comics is a medium dogged by questions, the most persistent and at the same time the most asinine being, "What could possibly be intelligent or relevant about comics?" Having been taught to read by my mother with the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes, and having my favorite childhood book being Captain Underpants, I admit that I'm a little biased this category and believe wholeheartedly that comics are not only a legitimate artistic medium, but that they are also a medium defined by it's unending quality of potential.
There is literally no space, ground, or territory of human society in which comics cannot address, and Chute demonstrates this in Why Comics? masterfully. The book is not an ungodly academic affair, anyone could read this book and gleam something from it. Whether it's her analysis of MAUS, a book which has permanently altered the medium by its respectability, her exploration of the lasting relevance of superhero comics, her insights into the eccentric works of R.Crumb, or her lengthy treatment of Alison Bechdel's memoir Fun Home, every page of this book is an love-song and a real defense of the medium of comics. Chute arranges this book as a series of questions anticipating the now outdated perception that comics has no merit in dealing with material like genocide, sexism, race, queer existence, politics, sexuality, and personal development. Chute answers the question why would comics handle the lives of queer people. Why would comics have relevance when dealing with the Serbian genocide? These questions over time become pressingly important to the reader, and as they read the book they will see that Chute is not only a skilled writer and defender of the medium, she succeeds in making the reader want to read more comics.
Like I wrote at the start, I am terribly biased and I believe comics are something important to the culture for the way they can combine words and images to address common, eccentric, unusual, or complicated issues of human existence. Comics is a medium where the artist is not so bound by limitations. Because of it's structure of using image and word together the artists and writers who make and draft comics can create moments that are simply unlike anything which has existed before in any medium. Comics are pure potential, and Chute reminds me in every page why I love reading them.
There is literally no space, ground, or territory of human society in which comics cannot address, and Chute demonstrates this in Why Comics? masterfully. The book is not an ungodly academic affair, anyone could read this book and gleam something from it. Whether it's her analysis of MAUS, a book which has permanently altered the medium by its respectability, her exploration of the lasting relevance of superhero comics, her insights into the eccentric works of R.Crumb, or her lengthy treatment of Alison Bechdel's memoir Fun Home, every page of this book is an love-song and a real defense of the medium of comics. Chute arranges this book as a series of questions anticipating the now outdated perception that comics has no merit in dealing with material like genocide, sexism, race, queer existence, politics, sexuality, and personal development. Chute answers the question why would comics handle the lives of queer people. Why would comics have relevance when dealing with the Serbian genocide? These questions over time become pressingly important to the reader, and as they read the book they will see that Chute is not only a skilled writer and defender of the medium, she succeeds in making the reader want to read more comics.
Like I wrote at the start, I am terribly biased and I believe comics are something important to the culture for the way they can combine words and images to address common, eccentric, unusual, or complicated issues of human existence. Comics is a medium where the artist is not so bound by limitations. Because of it's structure of using image and word together the artists and writers who make and draft comics can create moments that are simply unlike anything which has existed before in any medium. Comics are pure potential, and Chute reminds me in every page why I love reading them.
December 31, 2018
I got into the world of comics at the ripe old age of 30. The past five years have been rich and I've also embarked on collecting them for fun. Hence, any work that sheds some academic light on this fascinating field is usually picked up. Chute's work is simply brilliant. By covering themes such as Superheroes, War, Journalism, Women, Pop culture etc, she paints a lovely canvas of the world of comics!
February 23, 2018
I really enjoyed learning about the backstories of some luminaries of the comics and literary graphic novel world, and close readings of important works were compelling. This is an academic text, not in the sense that it's particularly difficult but it's not especially pleasant to read. The introduction, especially, was dry and not a particularly good intro to comics - it summarizes a variety of previous works on comics - you'd be better off just reading these works. I was also skeptical of Chute's attempts to show the changing popularity of comics. The metrics she uses weren't always convincing to me; however Chute is really interesting when she's talking about literary graphic novels and the underground comix world - would recommend if you already are familiar with comics and want to learn more about these subgenres.
December 14, 2018
I love Chute's writing and her fresh approach to understanding alternative/underground comics through its recurring themes -- essentially, identifying its subgenres. My one critical note is the way the book leans on (leans on! not singularly indulges) the usual suspects: R. Crumb, Alison Bechdel, Chris Ware, Art Spiegelman, the Hernandez brothers.... At the same time, Chute is the leading scholar on Spiegelman's work, so. Maybe more of a look into the current direction of these themes, balancing each chapter with the artists who established them and the artists who are carrying them forward, would make the book more satisfying to me, idk.
March 19, 2019
A fascinating, in-depth look at comics and the different genres and topics they touch upon.
It centers mostly on underground or "literary" comics so there might be a lot of titles and artists mentioned that the average comics reader might not be familiar with, but the hows and whys and whos are so perfectly elucidated that you'll walk away with a desire to know more about them.
It centers mostly on underground or "literary" comics so there might be a lot of titles and artists mentioned that the average comics reader might not be familiar with, but the hows and whys and whos are so perfectly elucidated that you'll walk away with a desire to know more about them.
October 10, 2018
Very well documented and written. I specially loved the analysis of the works of Ware, Burns and Bechdel.
November 5, 2019
If you want a fairly comprehensive overview of North American graphic novels and glimpses at cartoon penises, this is the book for you.
January 19, 2024
Hillary Chute’s Why Comics? From Underground to Everywhere provides some of the most insightful observations on the history, theory, and hermeneutics of comic literature that I’ve read since Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics for theory and Will Eisner’s Shop Talk for praxis and “behind the scenes” anecdotes. Just as my approach to interpreting comic literature (I prefer using this possibly pretentious term over Chute’s use of comics as a singular noun) was forever changed by McCloud’s idea of sequential narrative (time on a page), I am enamored with Chute’s observations on the “gutters” (“crucial for comics making and reading…an absent space that is part of the story—it is where the reader fills in the blank between pictured moments, participating imaginatively in the creation of the story.” p. 23) and comics as a site-specific space that choreographs and shapes time (p, 24). The book does a great job of demonstrating how comics “layer on” moments in time (pp. 24-25). And if, like me, you have that tendency to take in an entire page or two-page spread at one glance before drilling down into the individual panels, Chute defines this process of overview as the “symphonic effect” where we spot a larger pattern before experiencing the smaller scenes (p. 25).
After sharing some of the history (certainly not even as exhaustive as Fred Van Lente’s and Ryan Dunleavy’s The Comic Book History of Comics from IDW) behind the medium, Chute divides her interpretation into 10 major themes (admittedly with some overlapping): 1) disaster, 2) superheroes, 3) sex, 4) suburbs, 5) cities, 6) punk, 7) illness and disability, 8) girls, 9) war, and 10) queer. After that, there is a discussion on fans and fandom. Each theme begins with the background and insights of at least one major creator who…er…paints on the canvas of that particular theme.
For disaster, I was stunned by Chute’s very accurate observation that the entire superhero genre is essentially based on disaster (p. 34). However, this chapter goes a different direction with superheroes getting their due in the next. For this chapter, the paradigmatic creator is Art Spiegelman of Maus fame. From underground comix through his time at Topps trading cards (where he was creative director and artist for the first Garbage Pail Kids to New Yorker covers (the black on black twin towers cover that is reprinted in this book, for one), the idea of disaster and trauma runs through his work. In addition to the biographical material that helps one understand his creative process, there are “craft” insights such as his insistence in working at a 1:1 ratio on Maus. He is then compared with Keiji Nakazawa, a Japanese artist whose life and work may be said to have been defined by Hiroshima. I was fascinated by the account of a poor aspiring cartoonist ripping down posters off of streets, cutting them into page size, using the backs of the posters as his “canvas,” and stitching the pages into notebooks to make his home-crafted comics (pp. 61-62).
For superheroes (and as a child of the ‘50s, my first experiences with comics were funny animal comics, superheroes, and television show adaptations), I loved the introduction of the chapter where Chute asserted that the characters for this genre “…are a typological category and a cultural truth.” (p. 70) Naturally, this chapter begins with a summary of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster. Intriguingly, Chute cites Shuster finding unused rolls of wallpaper behind some shops and, reminiscent of the later Nakazawa, using the white backs for his drawing paper (p. 71). Chute doesn’t talk long about superheroes (except for almost lamenting their success) before noting the more complex graphic novels, The Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen. Indeed, the most fascinating insight beyond the one to which I already referred may be the awareness: “Historically, Europe, for instance, despite a rich comics tradition, can claim no indigenous superhero comics on a par with the popularity of American superhero comics.” (p. 74) The latter part of the chapter doesn’t even deconstruct the genre except to offer excessive praise to the anti-genre. In fact, the chapter closes with praise for the representation of minorities in superhero comics with a suggestive undercurrent about body-shaming implicitly asserted regarding mainstream heroes.
Regarding sex, how could the subject of comic literature be handled without this vital ingredient from the underground comix world? The historical section offers a reprint of a page from one of the so-called “Tijuana Bibles” feature Popeye, Olive Oil, and Wimpy (who is not so wimpy in this comic) in a threesome (pp. 106-107) but uses Robert Crumb’s work (even before his iconic Zap comics were self-published) to establish that idea of sexual obsession and LSD-laced psychedelics somewhat normalized by artistic elements (like cross-hatching and rubbery exaggeration of human features—p. 109). Even more interesting, however, was the life and work of Aline Kominsky-Crumb. This was an area of the art form of which I was only vaguely aware before reading this chapter.
As for the theme Chute embodied as “The Suburbs,” the chapter spends very little time on the history, dismissing Blondie as a ditzy housewife married to a “wealthy, sandwich-loving husband.” That may have been true in the ‘30s when the characters first appeared as a “flapper” and the son of a well-to-do businessman, but it hasn’t been true for more than a decade. It seems the mention of this theme was merely an opportunity to deal with creators like Charles Burn who deconstruct the suburban idyll with his imaginative STD in Black Hole in order to expose the hollowness of adolescent (and middle class in general) society. I did particularly like the suggestion of the long panels of overgrown woods symbolizing a desire to be elsewhere. “Comics—a medium whose panels enclose and juxtapose space—is perfectly suited to illustrate how the suburbs fence out the undesirable, and how geographical and social spaces are linked.” (p. 156) There is also an interesting observation about Chris Ware’s Building Stories in which Chutes delineates how architectural building blocks serve to build Ware’s stories about, predominantly, loneliness.
In discussing “The Cities,” Chute cites a Frank Miller observation that I hadn’t read before but certainly resonates with me: “Metropolis is New York in the day, and Gotham is New York at night.” (p. 175) I had hoped the paradigmatic title in this chapter would be Will Eisner’s Contract with God, but even though the cover is reproduced and it is mentioned, the representative title for this chapter is American Splendor. I enjoyed the description and some of the background on the David Letterman television fiasco. Yet, it was a couple of smaller observations that captured my attention. In describing the use of spiked lines emanating from a character’s head to suggest shock, Chutes quotes Mort Walker of Beetle Bailey and Hi and Lois fame in calling them “emanations.” (p. 185) I also loved the phrase “democracy of voices” alluding to Pekar’s creative ear for reproducing conversations. Love and Rockets also provides a cityscape view from a very Southern California perspective. It is credited with: “articulating the unstable, always shifting interaction of location and culture, through both words and images.” (p. 202)
Regarding “punk,” a comic form to which I’ve never been (pardon the pun) drawn, I learned that Jimbo: Adventures in Paradise was the inspiration for Bart Simpson’s hairstyle back when Matt Groening and Gary Panter, also known as the set designer of the Pee-Wee’s Playhouse television show, knew each other (pp. 208-209). One technical tip I learned from “punk” was that the speech balloons full of cross-outs were placed to express the crude aesthetic of punk (p. 214). I also enjoyed the anecdote about Gary Panter’s “scratchy” drawing style dating back to 1972 when his Rapidograph pen started jamming up. He also claimed to have been influenced by Mexican print-shops with low quality-assurance that often printed materials “off-register.” (p. 217)
In the “Illness and Disability” chapter, Chutes delineates how the diagrammatic nature of comics allows the presentation of objects such as actual-size illustrations of medical instruments (e. g. a core biopsy needle and biopsied samples in Marisa Acocella Marchetto’s Cancer Vixen--pp. 241-242) and in the serious work of the Graphic Medicine Manifesto. The latter is “interested in comics that seek to find a way to depict complicated experience accurately—in both words and pictures alike and in the spaces of meaning between them.” (p. 244—see www.graphicmedicine.org)
The paradigmatic publication for this chapter is Binky Brown Meets the Holy Virgin Mary. Chutes calls it the ur-text for disability comics in describing and OCD sufferer’s obsession with sex, religion, and order. Creator Justin Green described his process as “codifying every square inch of space” (p. 253). Using unattractive and uncomfortable images to illustrate the point, Chutes shows how comic art “can offer a picture of consciousness-a mental state or a psychic landscape – that is internal to an individual.” (p. 258). The chapter goes on to cite Chris Ware as a form that “sees from the inside out.” (p. 258)
A web comic on depression by Alexandra “Allie” Brosh, Hyperbole and a Half, also served to demonstrate the possibilities in this theme. This comic was drawn with a free Macintosh paint program (p. 262) and features such a crudely drawn protagonist that I initially thought she was supposed to be an amphibian with a dorsal fin. Even the author of this book originally thought it was a conical hat when it was supposed to represent a stylized ponytail (p. 268).
One of the weaknesses that I’ve seen in this book is that Chutes is so enamored with the non-mainstream literature that she often misses connections between the off-beat titles and the earlier works which preceded them. For example, some years ago I heard a wonderful presentation from Trina Robbins about female comics. Chutes ignores these titles with the exception of a mention of 1930s character, Little Lulu. She quotes from Little Lulu’s creator, Marjorie Henderson Buell: “I wanted a girl because a girl could get away with more fresh stunts that in a small boy would seem boorish.” (p. 277)
Chutes also tells an interesting anecdote that shows how judging one for intolerance can work both ways. Lynda Barry did a comic called Spinal Comics for a Seattle paper. In it, women in bars would talk to men depicted as cacti. Admittedly, this might be considered as sexist, but the comic was originally rejected as racist (white women versus Mexican men) even though the strip had nothing to do with either white women specifically or Mexican men (p. 284).
And, while Chutes does touch base with a couple of superhero books designed to stir up patriotic fervor during WWII and reproduces a Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandoes cover dealing with a Nazi death camp, there is no mention of the Joe Simon Boy Commandos or Cold War era Fighting American (done with Jack Kirby). Before Chutes moves into her preferred paradigms, Joe Sacco’s Palestine and Safe Area Gorazde, though, she does offer an interesting factoid that one-fourth of all books shipped to service personnel overseas in WWI were comic books (p. 311). She also noted how the Vietnam Conflict caused a shift from patriotic supporters to anti-war protestors among comic writers and publishers, as well (pp. 311-313). My favorite note from this chapter was the comparison of a two-page spread in Sacco’s Palestine with one of Bruegel’s Flemish landscapes from an earlier century (p.324).
While there is some discussion of male-exclusive sexuality in “Why Queer,” the bulk of the chapter surrounds the work of Alison Bechdel. Bechdel’s defining work is the 200+ page graphic novel called Fun Home (short for “funeral home,” the family business) which reflects her autobiographical account of coming out in a home with a gay, suicidal father. On the craft side, the interesting term in this chapter was a citation of Ivan Brunetti’s term, “democratic” grid, referring to panels of equal space and beats of time (p. 380). Chute also shared a bit about the Tony award-winning musical based on Fun Home.
The book closes with a bit about fans, especially the author’s experiences at two different San Diego Comic-Con (near and dear to my heart because I attended one long before it moved to the convention center). She quotes an attendee expressing the inclusive nature of the event: “It’s permission.” (p. 395). I also liked her brief mention of the “work for hire” model in mainstream comics as her introduction to describing the Bill Finger Aware for Excellence in Comics Writing.” (p. 400) Appropriately enough, Bill Finger was (according to Neal Adams) the dominant (but uncredited) creative force behind Batman.
Why Comics? From Underground to Everywhere is not a slim volume at 450 pages with back matter. There is a lot of breadth covered. At times, it nods to the early pioneers, but it doesn’t connect with mainstream history often enough to suit my taste. I can appreciate that Chutes is really trying to turn the spotlight onto what she would call meaningful comic literature, but it seems less balanced than say the average issue of The International Journal of Comic Art (which is truly international in scope and doesn’t limit itself to a particular style of comic narrative). Why Comics? From Underground to Everywhere is a good book and I’m glad I read it. I just felt like a mere 25 pages of connective tissue with comics history would have made it near perfect.
After sharing some of the history (certainly not even as exhaustive as Fred Van Lente’s and Ryan Dunleavy’s The Comic Book History of Comics from IDW) behind the medium, Chute divides her interpretation into 10 major themes (admittedly with some overlapping): 1) disaster, 2) superheroes, 3) sex, 4) suburbs, 5) cities, 6) punk, 7) illness and disability, 8) girls, 9) war, and 10) queer. After that, there is a discussion on fans and fandom. Each theme begins with the background and insights of at least one major creator who…er…paints on the canvas of that particular theme.
For disaster, I was stunned by Chute’s very accurate observation that the entire superhero genre is essentially based on disaster (p. 34). However, this chapter goes a different direction with superheroes getting their due in the next. For this chapter, the paradigmatic creator is Art Spiegelman of Maus fame. From underground comix through his time at Topps trading cards (where he was creative director and artist for the first Garbage Pail Kids to New Yorker covers (the black on black twin towers cover that is reprinted in this book, for one), the idea of disaster and trauma runs through his work. In addition to the biographical material that helps one understand his creative process, there are “craft” insights such as his insistence in working at a 1:1 ratio on Maus. He is then compared with Keiji Nakazawa, a Japanese artist whose life and work may be said to have been defined by Hiroshima. I was fascinated by the account of a poor aspiring cartoonist ripping down posters off of streets, cutting them into page size, using the backs of the posters as his “canvas,” and stitching the pages into notebooks to make his home-crafted comics (pp. 61-62).
For superheroes (and as a child of the ‘50s, my first experiences with comics were funny animal comics, superheroes, and television show adaptations), I loved the introduction of the chapter where Chute asserted that the characters for this genre “…are a typological category and a cultural truth.” (p. 70) Naturally, this chapter begins with a summary of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster. Intriguingly, Chute cites Shuster finding unused rolls of wallpaper behind some shops and, reminiscent of the later Nakazawa, using the white backs for his drawing paper (p. 71). Chute doesn’t talk long about superheroes (except for almost lamenting their success) before noting the more complex graphic novels, The Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen. Indeed, the most fascinating insight beyond the one to which I already referred may be the awareness: “Historically, Europe, for instance, despite a rich comics tradition, can claim no indigenous superhero comics on a par with the popularity of American superhero comics.” (p. 74) The latter part of the chapter doesn’t even deconstruct the genre except to offer excessive praise to the anti-genre. In fact, the chapter closes with praise for the representation of minorities in superhero comics with a suggestive undercurrent about body-shaming implicitly asserted regarding mainstream heroes.
Regarding sex, how could the subject of comic literature be handled without this vital ingredient from the underground comix world? The historical section offers a reprint of a page from one of the so-called “Tijuana Bibles” feature Popeye, Olive Oil, and Wimpy (who is not so wimpy in this comic) in a threesome (pp. 106-107) but uses Robert Crumb’s work (even before his iconic Zap comics were self-published) to establish that idea of sexual obsession and LSD-laced psychedelics somewhat normalized by artistic elements (like cross-hatching and rubbery exaggeration of human features—p. 109). Even more interesting, however, was the life and work of Aline Kominsky-Crumb. This was an area of the art form of which I was only vaguely aware before reading this chapter.
As for the theme Chute embodied as “The Suburbs,” the chapter spends very little time on the history, dismissing Blondie as a ditzy housewife married to a “wealthy, sandwich-loving husband.” That may have been true in the ‘30s when the characters first appeared as a “flapper” and the son of a well-to-do businessman, but it hasn’t been true for more than a decade. It seems the mention of this theme was merely an opportunity to deal with creators like Charles Burn who deconstruct the suburban idyll with his imaginative STD in Black Hole in order to expose the hollowness of adolescent (and middle class in general) society. I did particularly like the suggestion of the long panels of overgrown woods symbolizing a desire to be elsewhere. “Comics—a medium whose panels enclose and juxtapose space—is perfectly suited to illustrate how the suburbs fence out the undesirable, and how geographical and social spaces are linked.” (p. 156) There is also an interesting observation about Chris Ware’s Building Stories in which Chutes delineates how architectural building blocks serve to build Ware’s stories about, predominantly, loneliness.
In discussing “The Cities,” Chute cites a Frank Miller observation that I hadn’t read before but certainly resonates with me: “Metropolis is New York in the day, and Gotham is New York at night.” (p. 175) I had hoped the paradigmatic title in this chapter would be Will Eisner’s Contract with God, but even though the cover is reproduced and it is mentioned, the representative title for this chapter is American Splendor. I enjoyed the description and some of the background on the David Letterman television fiasco. Yet, it was a couple of smaller observations that captured my attention. In describing the use of spiked lines emanating from a character’s head to suggest shock, Chutes quotes Mort Walker of Beetle Bailey and Hi and Lois fame in calling them “emanations.” (p. 185) I also loved the phrase “democracy of voices” alluding to Pekar’s creative ear for reproducing conversations. Love and Rockets also provides a cityscape view from a very Southern California perspective. It is credited with: “articulating the unstable, always shifting interaction of location and culture, through both words and images.” (p. 202)
Regarding “punk,” a comic form to which I’ve never been (pardon the pun) drawn, I learned that Jimbo: Adventures in Paradise was the inspiration for Bart Simpson’s hairstyle back when Matt Groening and Gary Panter, also known as the set designer of the Pee-Wee’s Playhouse television show, knew each other (pp. 208-209). One technical tip I learned from “punk” was that the speech balloons full of cross-outs were placed to express the crude aesthetic of punk (p. 214). I also enjoyed the anecdote about Gary Panter’s “scratchy” drawing style dating back to 1972 when his Rapidograph pen started jamming up. He also claimed to have been influenced by Mexican print-shops with low quality-assurance that often printed materials “off-register.” (p. 217)
In the “Illness and Disability” chapter, Chutes delineates how the diagrammatic nature of comics allows the presentation of objects such as actual-size illustrations of medical instruments (e. g. a core biopsy needle and biopsied samples in Marisa Acocella Marchetto’s Cancer Vixen--pp. 241-242) and in the serious work of the Graphic Medicine Manifesto. The latter is “interested in comics that seek to find a way to depict complicated experience accurately—in both words and pictures alike and in the spaces of meaning between them.” (p. 244—see www.graphicmedicine.org)
The paradigmatic publication for this chapter is Binky Brown Meets the Holy Virgin Mary. Chutes calls it the ur-text for disability comics in describing and OCD sufferer’s obsession with sex, religion, and order. Creator Justin Green described his process as “codifying every square inch of space” (p. 253). Using unattractive and uncomfortable images to illustrate the point, Chutes shows how comic art “can offer a picture of consciousness-a mental state or a psychic landscape – that is internal to an individual.” (p. 258). The chapter goes on to cite Chris Ware as a form that “sees from the inside out.” (p. 258)
A web comic on depression by Alexandra “Allie” Brosh, Hyperbole and a Half, also served to demonstrate the possibilities in this theme. This comic was drawn with a free Macintosh paint program (p. 262) and features such a crudely drawn protagonist that I initially thought she was supposed to be an amphibian with a dorsal fin. Even the author of this book originally thought it was a conical hat when it was supposed to represent a stylized ponytail (p. 268).
One of the weaknesses that I’ve seen in this book is that Chutes is so enamored with the non-mainstream literature that she often misses connections between the off-beat titles and the earlier works which preceded them. For example, some years ago I heard a wonderful presentation from Trina Robbins about female comics. Chutes ignores these titles with the exception of a mention of 1930s character, Little Lulu. She quotes from Little Lulu’s creator, Marjorie Henderson Buell: “I wanted a girl because a girl could get away with more fresh stunts that in a small boy would seem boorish.” (p. 277)
Chutes also tells an interesting anecdote that shows how judging one for intolerance can work both ways. Lynda Barry did a comic called Spinal Comics for a Seattle paper. In it, women in bars would talk to men depicted as cacti. Admittedly, this might be considered as sexist, but the comic was originally rejected as racist (white women versus Mexican men) even though the strip had nothing to do with either white women specifically or Mexican men (p. 284).
And, while Chutes does touch base with a couple of superhero books designed to stir up patriotic fervor during WWII and reproduces a Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandoes cover dealing with a Nazi death camp, there is no mention of the Joe Simon Boy Commandos or Cold War era Fighting American (done with Jack Kirby). Before Chutes moves into her preferred paradigms, Joe Sacco’s Palestine and Safe Area Gorazde, though, she does offer an interesting factoid that one-fourth of all books shipped to service personnel overseas in WWI were comic books (p. 311). She also noted how the Vietnam Conflict caused a shift from patriotic supporters to anti-war protestors among comic writers and publishers, as well (pp. 311-313). My favorite note from this chapter was the comparison of a two-page spread in Sacco’s Palestine with one of Bruegel’s Flemish landscapes from an earlier century (p.324).
While there is some discussion of male-exclusive sexuality in “Why Queer,” the bulk of the chapter surrounds the work of Alison Bechdel. Bechdel’s defining work is the 200+ page graphic novel called Fun Home (short for “funeral home,” the family business) which reflects her autobiographical account of coming out in a home with a gay, suicidal father. On the craft side, the interesting term in this chapter was a citation of Ivan Brunetti’s term, “democratic” grid, referring to panels of equal space and beats of time (p. 380). Chute also shared a bit about the Tony award-winning musical based on Fun Home.
The book closes with a bit about fans, especially the author’s experiences at two different San Diego Comic-Con (near and dear to my heart because I attended one long before it moved to the convention center). She quotes an attendee expressing the inclusive nature of the event: “It’s permission.” (p. 395). I also liked her brief mention of the “work for hire” model in mainstream comics as her introduction to describing the Bill Finger Aware for Excellence in Comics Writing.” (p. 400) Appropriately enough, Bill Finger was (according to Neal Adams) the dominant (but uncredited) creative force behind Batman.
Why Comics? From Underground to Everywhere is not a slim volume at 450 pages with back matter. There is a lot of breadth covered. At times, it nods to the early pioneers, but it doesn’t connect with mainstream history often enough to suit my taste. I can appreciate that Chutes is really trying to turn the spotlight onto what she would call meaningful comic literature, but it seems less balanced than say the average issue of The International Journal of Comic Art (which is truly international in scope and doesn’t limit itself to a particular style of comic narrative). Why Comics? From Underground to Everywhere is a good book and I’m glad I read it. I just felt like a mere 25 pages of connective tissue with comics history would have made it near perfect.
September 8, 2020
This is the text that I have assigned in my graphic literature class: Hillary Chute brings a great balance of academic, analytic, and historical angles of comics, but the book also contains tongue-in-cheek cultural references and plenty of visuals examples.
September 7, 2022
Rec. by: A returns cart at MCL
Rec. for: Those with graphic imaginations
Why Comics? answers its own question. Hillary Chute's 2017 book is a lively, broad-ranging and scholarly introduction to the other universe of comics, all the kinds of sequential art that don't feature spandex-wearing superbeings.
Well, mostly. But if all you know of comics (Chute's preferred term, as opposed to "graphic novels") is the work of guys like Ditko, Kirby and Lee (or guys like Davis, Schulz and Keane, for that matter), then you're in for a mind-expanding treat. And even if you're already familiar with the more prominent alternative artists Chute discusses at length here, ones who are not really "underground" anymore, like Spiegelman, Bechdel, Sacco, Barry, Brosh and Crumb, why, Why Comics? still feels fresh and interesting, and I can guarantee that at least a few of the creators Chute examines will be new to you.
Much of that freshness comes from Why Comics?' unique organization. Rather than plod through the history of comics in traditionally linear fashion, Chute tackles a series of interesting themes, beginning each chapter with a new question that both echoes and expands on the book's title:
Why Disaster?
Why Superheroes?
Why Sex?
Why the Suburbs?
Why Cities?
Why Punk?
Why Illness & Disability?
Why Girls?
Why War?
Why Queer?
Coda : Why Fans?
(Table of Contents info adapted from https://openlibrary.org/books/OL26939..., this time)
*
A few scattered observations...
Why Comics? confronts the serious side of comics up front and head-on. For example, Chute's first chapter focuses on "Disaster," primarily through the lens of Spiegelman's Maus and Keiji Nakazawa's memoir of Hiroshima, I Saw It.
And I suppose it's indicative of something that the copy I checked out fell open on its own to pp.106-107, a two-page spread (heh) in the chapter "Why Sex?" of a "Tijuana Bible" featuring Olive Oyl, Popeye and Wimpy in an explicit three-way encounter.
Chute's book is well-salted with illustrations in general—certainly better so than the last history-of-comics I read—and most of the comics in Why Comics? are reproduced legibly, too; there were only a couple by Chris Ware that I needed magnification to peruse... and Ware is known for the incredible amount of detail he packs into his work.
The profile of Allie Brosh in "Why Illness and Disability?" ends, poignantly, during a quiet period, prior to Brosh's publication of Solutions and Other Problems.
The final section of Why Comics? is "Why Fans?"—and one of the snapshots Chute chose for this part, of a colorful trio called "Chewie's Angels" (p.405), I think perfectly encapsulates the fun and inspiration of cosplay. (For further reading on cosplay, by the way, Charles de Lint highly recommends Cosplay: A History by Andrew Liptak, as reviewed in the September/October 2022 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction.)
*
All in all, Why Comics? struck me as an excellent introduction to the form. The tone can be a little... defensive, sometimes—but that's understandable. After all, Chute's reacting to decades of popular disdain for the form of comics, even though (as she correctly points out) it's the often-juvenile content that's to blame. But from the title page, with its philosophical placement of comics between the interiority of prose and the external nature of cinema, to her conclusion, Hillary Chute makes a solid case that comics can and should be taken seriously... and has tons of fun doing so, along the way.
Rec. for: Those with graphic imaginations
Why Comics? answers its own question. Hillary Chute's 2017 book is a lively, broad-ranging and scholarly introduction to the other universe of comics, all the kinds of sequential art that don't feature spandex-wearing superbeings.
Well, mostly. But if all you know of comics (Chute's preferred term, as opposed to "graphic novels") is the work of guys like Ditko, Kirby and Lee (or guys like Davis, Schulz and Keane, for that matter), then you're in for a mind-expanding treat. And even if you're already familiar with the more prominent alternative artists Chute discusses at length here, ones who are not really "underground" anymore, like Spiegelman, Bechdel, Sacco, Barry, Brosh and Crumb, why, Why Comics? still feels fresh and interesting, and I can guarantee that at least a few of the creators Chute examines will be new to you.
Much of that freshness comes from Why Comics?' unique organization. Rather than plod through the history of comics in traditionally linear fashion, Chute tackles a series of interesting themes, beginning each chapter with a new question that both echoes and expands on the book's title:
Why Disaster?
Why Superheroes?
Why Sex?
Why the Suburbs?
Why Cities?
Why Punk?
Why Illness & Disability?
Why Girls?
Why War?
Why Queer?
Coda : Why Fans?
(Table of Contents info adapted from https://openlibrary.org/books/OL26939..., this time)
*
A few scattered observations...
Why Comics? confronts the serious side of comics up front and head-on. For example, Chute's first chapter focuses on "Disaster," primarily through the lens of Spiegelman's Maus and Keiji Nakazawa's memoir of Hiroshima, I Saw It.
And I suppose it's indicative of something that the copy I checked out fell open on its own to pp.106-107, a two-page spread (heh) in the chapter "Why Sex?" of a "Tijuana Bible" featuring Olive Oyl, Popeye and Wimpy in an explicit three-way encounter.
Chute's book is well-salted with illustrations in general—certainly better so than the last history-of-comics I read—and most of the comics in Why Comics? are reproduced legibly, too; there were only a couple by Chris Ware that I needed magnification to peruse... and Ware is known for the incredible amount of detail he packs into his work.
The profile of Allie Brosh in "Why Illness and Disability?" ends, poignantly, during a quiet period, prior to Brosh's publication of Solutions and Other Problems.
The final section of Why Comics? is "Why Fans?"—and one of the snapshots Chute chose for this part, of a colorful trio called "Chewie's Angels" (p.405), I think perfectly encapsulates the fun and inspiration of cosplay. (For further reading on cosplay, by the way, Charles de Lint highly recommends Cosplay: A History by Andrew Liptak, as reviewed in the September/October 2022 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction.)
*
All in all, Why Comics? struck me as an excellent introduction to the form. The tone can be a little... defensive, sometimes—but that's understandable. After all, Chute's reacting to decades of popular disdain for the form of comics, even though (as she correctly points out) it's the often-juvenile content that's to blame. But from the title page, with its philosophical placement of comics between the interiority of prose and the external nature of cinema, to her conclusion, Hillary Chute makes a solid case that comics can and should be taken seriously... and has tons of fun doing so, along the way.
April 19, 2018
This book was given to me as a birthday present by my wife. She heard the author giving an interview and thought I might enjoy the book because of my love comic books growing up. Very early in the book, it became obvious that this would not focus much on the mainstream super hero comics of my childhood, but instead more on the adult themed books that I began to learn about as I grew older.
Why Comics? looks at the history of different underground comics, and their influences, from humble beginnings to the often mainstream products that they are today. The book's chapters each focus on the different influences or themes of specific comics (Sex, Punk, War, Disaster, Suburbs, Cities, etc.) The book does a good job of providing a lot of background information about the authors and the experiences that influenced their titles. I was surprised how many of these authors I had previously heard of and all the experiences that influenced their work. For the authors that I hadn't heard of, I often found myself adding their work to my Goodreads 'to read' list.
This was not true with all of the authors though as some chapters were more interesting than others and I didn't always gain more appreciation for some of the artists (I have no desire to ever pick up a comic by Robert Crumb). Despite that fact, I still enjoyed reading about his experiences in the book.
It's clear that Chute has a real passion and interest in the subject matter, which comes out in her work. I look forward to reading some of her other books in the future.
Why Comics? looks at the history of different underground comics, and their influences, from humble beginnings to the often mainstream products that they are today. The book's chapters each focus on the different influences or themes of specific comics (Sex, Punk, War, Disaster, Suburbs, Cities, etc.) The book does a good job of providing a lot of background information about the authors and the experiences that influenced their titles. I was surprised how many of these authors I had previously heard of and all the experiences that influenced their work. For the authors that I hadn't heard of, I often found myself adding their work to my Goodreads 'to read' list.
This was not true with all of the authors though as some chapters were more interesting than others and I didn't always gain more appreciation for some of the artists (I have no desire to ever pick up a comic by Robert Crumb). Despite that fact, I still enjoyed reading about his experiences in the book.
It's clear that Chute has a real passion and interest in the subject matter, which comes out in her work. I look forward to reading some of her other books in the future.
July 5, 2018
Chute has carved out an expert lane in comics since her first book and I love her close readings and historiography. The thematic questions in each chapter layer and overlap in suggestive ways that allows her analysis of Spiegelman, Crumb, Kominsky-Crumb, Panter, Satrapi, Bechdel, Barry, Ware, Sacco and many other artists to feel fresh to me even though I've read some of these authors over and over again. She acknowledges while not obsessing over mass-market superhero comics AND also acknowledges while not obsessing over the comix movement of the 70s and 80s. I love this as I'm turned off by the pure poptimism of analyzing only the best sellers but I also hate the way that comix's obsession with auteurist writer-artists excluded the many worthwhile contributions of DC Vertigo, the work of Brian K Vaughn and Fiona Staples, and the interesting moves towards representation of a much wider audience that Marvel has made in the last decade. Chute has all of it, and all of it is fascinating and worthwhile.
February 23, 2018
This is the book I’ve read recently that has given me the most pleasure BY FAR. It contains both extremely good gossip about the background of comics you love and really smart close reads of those same comics, and I built a list of things I want to read next.
Hillary Chute is the comics theorist of my heart and the person whose work is most influential to me.
Hillary Chute is the comics theorist of my heart and the person whose work is most influential to me.
August 19, 2020
First, I think she’s a knowledgeable and capable panel-by-panel comic reviewer. There were some formatting issues where you had to flip back and forth to see the panels she was describing, including at least one or two I swear could have been averted, but mostly every time I read a description, I learned something about the way the page had been designed. I’d, in a second, read another book by here that was like “Here are 20 of the most influëntial/best designed/whatever comic pages of the past 100 years, and what they’re saying.” In this book, a lot of the time, it seemed like I was skimming over her text describing the page in question, tryïng to get the insight out of it. Like, if she’d had a Scott-McCloud-like avatar that could, like, point at individual gutters and say, ”You see, what’s happening here is...” that would be great, altho, of course, those take forever to make.
The scope is clearly impressive, and she definitely knows a lot about the comics art form and business. (And, as she consistently name drops saying how she was having lunch with one famous figure or doïng a lecture with another, you can’t forget it. Listen, I once chatted with Scott McCloud for maybe five minutes and here I am dropping that information in a review, but in a book, I’d mention my bona fides in an introduction and then leave myself more or less out of it after that.)
That said, I don’t think this book is a success: she sets out with a goal each chapter to say why comics are successful at talking about Disaster, or Sickness, or Queerness, but there’s no thesis statement at the beginning or end: it’s buried somewhere about 3/4 of the way thru the chapter, so in some cases, I don’t know what it was. For instance, if she’d begun the chapter on illness by citing McCloud, saying “Here’s why iconic illustrations are good at representing the reader as a mask, and here’s why that is particularly good at representing illness,” and then each example had shown that, that would’ve been fantastic. I wish I could’ve been her editor telling her that, because the approach is a worthy one and I think it would involve a huge restructuring.
Related to the point about name dropping, some of her asides are quite strange. I love a non-sequitur myself, but given how hard it was to find the point in each chapter, I found these needlessly distracting.
The scope is clearly impressive, and she definitely knows a lot about the comics art form and business. (And, as she consistently name drops saying how she was having lunch with one famous figure or doïng a lecture with another, you can’t forget it. Listen, I once chatted with Scott McCloud for maybe five minutes and here I am dropping that information in a review, but in a book, I’d mention my bona fides in an introduction and then leave myself more or less out of it after that.)
That said, I don’t think this book is a success: she sets out with a goal each chapter to say why comics are successful at talking about Disaster, or Sickness, or Queerness, but there’s no thesis statement at the beginning or end: it’s buried somewhere about 3/4 of the way thru the chapter, so in some cases, I don’t know what it was. For instance, if she’d begun the chapter on illness by citing McCloud, saying “Here’s why iconic illustrations are good at representing the reader as a mask, and here’s why that is particularly good at representing illness,” and then each example had shown that, that would’ve been fantastic. I wish I could’ve been her editor telling her that, because the approach is a worthy one and I think it would involve a huge restructuring.
Related to the point about name dropping, some of her asides are quite strange. I love a non-sequitur myself, but given how hard it was to find the point in each chapter, I found these needlessly distracting.
June 21, 2024
It's a somewhat bizarre book that definitely picks up in the second half when the author seems to be on more sure footing with their area of expertise within comics.
There are strange things that stand out whilst reading, however.
Seeming to lack the concept of "thumbnailing" when describing Pekar's writing process, inventing new marginalisations for no real reason (power to my triply marginalised cartoonist, literary cartoonist, female literary cartoonist brethren ✊ may you get your right to vote soon), calling it "Boys' Jump" (aka Shōnen Jump) like you're writing a ~*Crazy Japan*~ explainer in the 1980s, or even being so abstracted from the process of creating comics that you think digitally drawn borders are the definition of whether something is "independent or mainstream" rather than just... Different methods of doing the same thing that are used either side of the spectrum..?
All of these made small lapses in logic made it feel more akin to something written by an outsider to comics, rather than someone so deeply ingrained with many artists and writers to the point of knowing who they hung out at school with.
All of these struck me as bizarre. But, of course, myself and the writer are two very different people.
For example, if two of my married friends told me that they habitually take nonconsensual sexual photographs of people at the comic conventions they regularly attend and then freely disseminate them, I wouldn't think that was normal. I also wouldn't name drop them both in the book I was writing to be formally published, nor would I then openly admit to enjoying dining with said couple at their château in France like nothing's wrong with that whatsoever.
But, as I said, we are obviously very different people.
There are strange things that stand out whilst reading, however.
Seeming to lack the concept of "thumbnailing" when describing Pekar's writing process, inventing new marginalisations for no real reason (power to my triply marginalised cartoonist, literary cartoonist, female literary cartoonist brethren ✊ may you get your right to vote soon), calling it "Boys' Jump" (aka Shōnen Jump) like you're writing a ~*Crazy Japan*~ explainer in the 1980s, or even being so abstracted from the process of creating comics that you think digitally drawn borders are the definition of whether something is "independent or mainstream" rather than just... Different methods of doing the same thing that are used either side of the spectrum..?
All of these made small lapses in logic made it feel more akin to something written by an outsider to comics, rather than someone so deeply ingrained with many artists and writers to the point of knowing who they hung out at school with.
All of these struck me as bizarre. But, of course, myself and the writer are two very different people.
For example, if two of my married friends told me that they habitually take nonconsensual sexual photographs of people at the comic conventions they regularly attend and then freely disseminate them, I wouldn't think that was normal. I also wouldn't name drop them both in the book I was writing to be formally published, nor would I then openly admit to enjoying dining with said couple at their château in France like nothing's wrong with that whatsoever.
But, as I said, we are obviously very different people.
December 18, 2018
I learned a lot. Have rarely read graphic stories (although a few years ago I discovered Roz Chast's collections - and love them). So am now reading some of the many recommended (by Chute) authors.
Some great, some not so ... but a new learning experience. I've become - in my dotage - much more appreciative of art (I used mostly to only appreciate the printed word), and some of these graphic novels exhibit interesting art, as well as original verbiage. Her organization of material, by genre, is useful. I have zero interest, for example, in 'superheroes', so pretty much skimmed that chapter. My take is that for US comics, this book is relatively comprehensive. However, if you are a fan of - or want to learn about -European comics (not especially, in my case), there is very little info in this book on them. Also, when I said 'comprehensive' above, I meant re themes, styles, meanings, designers & writers (mini-bios). But as far as mechanical technique - i.e., if you wanted to produce your own graphic novels - there is very little info in this book, and you'd probably need to go to art school or technical school to learn how.
Some great, some not so ... but a new learning experience. I've become - in my dotage - much more appreciative of art (I used mostly to only appreciate the printed word), and some of these graphic novels exhibit interesting art, as well as original verbiage. Her organization of material, by genre, is useful. I have zero interest, for example, in 'superheroes', so pretty much skimmed that chapter. My take is that for US comics, this book is relatively comprehensive. However, if you are a fan of - or want to learn about -European comics (not especially, in my case), there is very little info in this book on them. Also, when I said 'comprehensive' above, I meant re themes, styles, meanings, designers & writers (mini-bios). But as far as mechanical technique - i.e., if you wanted to produce your own graphic novels - there is very little info in this book, and you'd probably need to go to art school or technical school to learn how.
November 29, 2023
I was hoping for perhaps something a little more inclusive, but it primarily focussed on the edgy, urban, serious side of comics. You can tell from the table of contents alone, where there are entire chapters on illness and disability, queerness, punk, war, etc. My ideal book about comics would embrace Rupert Bear, manga, Pogo, Tomb of Dracula, Little Nemo, perhaps Edward Gorey, and so forth. But I imagine Ms. Chute and I would also enjoy different movies, different books, different Broadway shows—if she went—she seems more of an Off-Off-Broadway type to me. Actually, that's a fair analogy for the book. It's as if I picked up a book called "Why Musicals?" and it only discussed off- or off-off Broadway shows, and only mentioned the occasional Broadway musical if it originated off-Broadway and moved.
(Note: I'm a writer, so I suffer when I offer fewer than five stars. But these aren't ratings of quality, they're a subjective account of how much I liked the book: 5* = an unalloyed pleasure from start to finish, 4* = really enjoyed it, 3* = readable but not thrilling, 2* = disappointing, and 1* = hated it.)
(Note: I'm a writer, so I suffer when I offer fewer than five stars. But these aren't ratings of quality, they're a subjective account of how much I liked the book: 5* = an unalloyed pleasure from start to finish, 4* = really enjoyed it, 3* = readable but not thrilling, 2* = disappointing, and 1* = hated it.)
April 16, 2018
Gosh, what to say besides "highly informative" and "meticulously researched," the two obvious compliments for any good work of nonfiction... Oh, right: it's impressively broad in scope, while still being highly readable! Weirdly full of personal anecdotes about the author's interaction with absolutely pivotal figures in modern comics history, but in a good way! Full of high-quality reprints of pages from the works being discussed, so you don't have to find them yourself (or suffer the irritation of learning about a visual medium that you can't look at)! An excellent survey of all of the Important Comics, which should be a little dull if you already know which are the Important Comics, but somehow isn't! The major ding, if there is one, is the author's tendency to choose the most famous, most obvious, most Important comics, the ones you'd see on a Comics 101 syllabus, to illustrate her points and analyze in depth. She has fresh insights to offer on them, though, and if you haven't read them, she makes you want to.
March 9, 2022
Overall, it’s a pretty solid book. I’ve never been a comic/graphic novel aficionado, but learning the history behind some of these pieces makes me want to go down to my favorite bookstore and spend a good chunk of my paycheck on them (s/o to Vroman’s in Pasadena). It explores pieces from pop culture to those that are more unknown. The chapters are divided by the many genres, because yes, there is a world beyond superheroes (Maus, Persepolis, Fun Home, etc.). War, the queer community, memoirs, the fans themselves, you name it and it there’s probably a comic in there that can relate to the subject matter. The only downside was the chapter titled “Why Sex?” I’m sorry but that Crumb guy had some serious issues. In a way, I expected better from it. I’m all for being sex positive but with the author going on about this guy’s fetishes and incest centered pieces, it was hard to be. Not planning to check out his or his wife’s pieces anytime soon. If anyone has a memory wipe machine, send it my way. Aside from that, the book provides a good history on comics that has touched the shelves.
March 2, 2019
This is should be the primary textbook for any serious academic comics class. I am so thankful for the work Chute has done, in organizing these ideas. Though I have already become familiar with most of the seminal texts Chute introduces, I had to feel my way through comics history based on casual conversations, Goodreads recommendations and the indexes of other books. It is refreshing to see these ground-breaking works analyzed with the intellectual rigour they deserve; I feel like I found an oasis in the desert. I am so happy for subsequent generations of afinados who will have this invaluable guide to set them on course to discover the origins of the intellectual traditions that are so alive in comics today. I've already begun to follow up on the tantalizing lists of lesser-known comics artists that Chute describes as having influenced the more well-known authors in "Why Comics" and the ones who picked up where they left off. My excitement about art-theory has never so genuine.
January 30, 2019
Brilliant! I enjoyed this book on so many levels. It's a great resource for finding new artists or learning about more of their work. It's a pleasure to read Chute's careful analysis of the art, whether its panel by panel or an overall look at an oeuvre. But the book is also more than a sum of those small parts. Chute's assembly into different chapters ("why disaster?" "why the suburbs?" "why illness & disability?" etc) are fascinating and bring different artists into insightful juxtaposition. I hadn't necessarily thought about the themes together, especially when I'd read the referenced artworks far apart. Chute's encyclopedic knowledge is so interesting to see.
February 15, 2018
Insightful survey of the wide range of topics addressed and styles used by the comics medium. Each chapter focuses on one theme (superheroes, queer, illness/disability, war, girls...), spotlighting a few comics creators and analyzing their work in depth. There are plenty of examples included of all the comics discussed.
I discovered comics/graphic novels later in my reading career and now have several favorites. This book gave me an even greater appreciation of comics as an art form, and its unique capabilities as a medium for expression. Your TBR list will grow!
I discovered comics/graphic novels later in my reading career and now have several favorites. This book gave me an even greater appreciation of comics as an art form, and its unique capabilities as a medium for expression. Your TBR list will grow!
July 13, 2018
I really enjoyed this. An academic look at various themes in comics, mostly not the mainstream superhero ones. Lots of well reproduced comic pages and each chapter would focus on a particular theme in comics, then zoom in on 2 or three particular works or creators. There was a big section on Ware's "Building Stories" and another on Allie Brosh's "Hyperbole and a Half", two recent-ish works I really liked, and also sections on R. Crumb and Harvey Pekar. It is closer to a pop culture book than an academic work but still has citations.
November 1, 2025
If you’re a fan of academic books and the history of comic books, Why Comics is definitely up your alley, with essays on how cokics were influenced by women, punk, DIY, war, disability, race, etc. its a breath of fresh air from the usual superhero history, tho superheroes are sometimes mentioned. Its like taking a cool college course, tho some of the writing can be repetitive, its still essential comics history reading
February 27, 2018
I’ll admit, I didn’t finish this, but what I read was interesting. I picked it up at the library since my son is so interested in comics. This did answer my main question, which was whether reading comics counts as reading (it does), but is probably otherwise too academic/specialized to be of much interest to the general reader who doesn’t know comics. Otherwise, well-written.
March 9, 2018
A definitive treatise on how graphic novels and other art comics have become such a cultural touchstone. Chute splits her books into different chapters covering different aspects of its appeal (Why Sex?, Why Punk?, Why Suburbs?) gives some form to its widespread, analytical (but still accessible) approach. Very generously illustrated with samples from many of the books she is writing about.
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