Zita the Spacegirl starts with Zita and her best friend Joseph being thrown through a portal to a bizarre and distant planet. It turns out the planet is doomed, but a sect of natives believe that Joseph is prophesied to save them. Zita, alone and in over her head, sets out to rescue him.

From there the story explodes. Action, drama, and some fascinating twists keep the comic rolling along. The art is sketchy but dynamic, and the characters are wonderfully engaging and likable. It says something about the writing when such a large cast fails to feel crowded – everyone gets a purpose and a chance to shine. Author/artist Ben Hatke has a deft hand for characterization and drops just enough detail to let his audience fill in the blanks.

The characters manage to feel both fresh and familiar to fans of science fiction. There’s a charming rogue a la Han Solo, his furry and loyal companion (who happens to be a giant mouse), a grandiose killer robot, a dim but sweet and loyal giant and many others. But the biggest presence in the story is Zita herself, who rises to meet every challenge with tenacity, creativity and compassion. I found myself cheering for her at every turn.

Despite the book’s intended audience, there are some dark aspects. Death, conflict and abuse of power feature heavily in the series, particularly in the third book. Some scenes are intense enough to concern young or particularly sensitive children (and adults) and likable characters occasionally suffer terrible fates. Despite this, the sense of hope pervading the series is strong enough to feel that everything’s going to be okay. I thoroughly enjoyed my reading and can think of several kids I’ll be lending these copies to.

Sources

Hatke, B. (2012). Legends of Zita the Spacegirl. New York, NY: First Second.

Hatke, B. (2014). Return of Zita the Spacegirl. New York, NY: First Second.

Hatke, B. (2010). Zita the Spacegirls. New York, NY: First Second.

Comics face some unique challenges in regards to censorship. As Critchfield and Powell discuss in Ch. 2 of True Stories of Censorship Battles in America’s Libraries, the visual nature of the medium makes potentially objectionable content much more explicit, and the librarians that conspired to keep Alan Moore’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen out of the hands of the general public obviously thought they were doing a service for the parents who were unable to personally shield their children; however, their actions kept anyone from enjoying the book. That kind of moral judgement is dangerous to impose and it is regrettable that any librarians thought the limiting the free flow of information would benefit their community.

While it is surprising that a librarian would advocate censorship, it is not surprising that patrons would object to the content in comics out of a misguided preconception that they are aimed at children and should therefore be free of controversy. According to the CBDLF, everything from Maus to Bone has been challenged within the last five years.[1] Critchfield and Powell lay out some ways to respond to concerned patrons who want a book reshelved or removed from the library catalog. Their suggestions emphasize unity of message, such as passing the buck to the library director rather than claiming control over library policy, and maintaining the dignity of their station by not getting drawn into debate.

It is important to keep in mind that what is objectionable to one patron will not offend another, and that the loudest voices should not dictate others’ access to works. On multiple occasions, Bone was challenged for depicting its characters drinking and smoking, on the basis that substance abuse should not be portrayed in children’s books.[2] Is it fair for that moral stance to rule supreme over those who might not care? It is unpleasant to consider a situation where the power to veto a work is available to every single person in the population. This seems to be a scenario where many concerned individuals should keep in mind the old Internet axiom: “Don’t like, don’t read.”

[1] http://cbldf.org/banned-comic/banned-challenged-comics/

[2] http://cbldf.org/banned-comic/banned-challenged-comics/case-study-bone/

Sources

Banned and Challenged Books from the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund. (2016). Retrieved May 3rd, 2016 from http://cbldf.org/banned-comic/banned-challenged-comics/

Critchfield, R. & Powell, D. M. (2012).  Well-Intentioned Censorship Is Still Censorship. In V. Nye and K. Barco (Eds.) True stories of censorship in America’s libraries (pp. 8-13). Chicago, IL: American Library Association.

The question of how to catalog comic books is a complicated one. Few are created by a single author or artist, and many are connected to other novels within a series, setting, or publisher. Do you put superhero books alongside graphic retellings of classic novels? What about nonfiction books? Do you separate the books into their own category, like you would for mediums such as movies and CDs? Or do you set them free to roam among the general book population, where a patron seeking a copy of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere might find its graphic adaptation alongside the text?

When I was a young child, the local library kept its comic books in the nonfiction section, as Nyberg mentions in “How Librarians Learned to Love the Graphic Novel.” In those days there was only a smattering of comic books, and they all fit onto one shelf in the 741.5, second one up, about knee high. It was the perfect height to camp out in the nonfiction section and have a steady supply of comics within arm’s reach as I polished them off. As the years passed my library acquired more graphic novels until they necessitated their own section off the YA wing. Nowadays, the only works kept in nonfiction are anthologies of obscure newspaper comics with little modern appeal, such as Krazy Kat and Pogo.

Comic books have many, many points of reference for cataloging. Modern systems such as RDA offer a more comprehensible approach and the potential to do justice to the many points of access each comic offers – crediting the publisher, author, character, artist, colorist and so forth. But this still does little to fix the problem of shelving comics in libraries. What is an intuitive system to one librarian will be incomprehensible to other librarians or patrons, or leave out key categories of interest. How to accommodate both readers who want every X-Men series in chronological order and readers who want to find everything Chris Claremont has ever written? Even with electronic assistance, there is no clear solution.

Sources

Lyga, A. & Lyga, B. (2004). Why graphic novels? In Graphic novels in your media center: A Definitive guide. Westport, CT: Libraries Unlimited. (pp. 1-14).

Nyberg, A.K. (2010). How librarians learned to love the graphic novel. In Weiner, R.G. (ed.)Graphic novels and comics in libraries and archives: Essays on readers, research, history and cataloging. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Co. (pp. 26-40).

Eisner is one of the biggest names in comics, and rightfully so. From the first page of this comic the art and atmosphere establish a sketchy, melancholy and bittersweet feeling. The old-fashioned hand lettering is vaguely Hebraic, switching to strongly Hebraic on the title pages. The Jewish community around which the stories revolve has a distinct feel. To me, personally, it feels like my grandparents’ Brooklyn neighborhood.

Eisner seems like he’s writing from personal experience. The dialogue, the philosophies, and the culture feel genuine. The stories are humble but engaging; the first one, of a pious Jew who undergoes a crisis of faith, is epic in atmosphere but minute in scope. They’re almost all downer endings, some rising up to bittersweet. The lines are a gorgeous balance of sparse and detailed. The world Eisner draws comes across as tightly and heavily populated.

The comic’s emotional content is strong and grounded. The characters’ expressions are powerful. The medium lets Eisner communicate exactly what he wants to show the audience. This ability is shown most clearly in the emotional climax of each story, where the characters faces are twisted by grief and desperation until they barely look human. Eisner plays around with the medium, employing and disguising the gutters between panels as the story calls for. Some panels are rigidly defined, while others float within scenes, and still others have no borders at all.

One specific thing that stood out to me is Eisner’s portrayal of non-Jewish women. He draws them as beautiful and exotic temptresses, a status symbol and mistress for successful Jewish men. In the fourth story, Cookalein,  Kathleen is shown naked and barechested, with a cross hanging between her breasts. Her Christianity is on display with her body, equating the two. Jewish women in the comic are flabby, shrewish, and mundane, but Christain women are exotic and sensual.

The final story was the most fascinating and complex one. Half a dozen different storylines jump in and out of the plot like a soap opera. There is infidelity, sexual awakening, and sexual menace. A woman gets raped, a fifteen year old boy is violated. Of the two the woman comes off better – she is able to talk about it and receive help, while the boy stays quiet and shuts down, all while other expect him to become a man. Its not a story with easy answers.

This comic was difficult to read, but I’m glad I did so. I feel a connection with the setting even as I am repulsed by the many of the values espoused by the characters. Eisner is an absolute genius storyteller, and everything in the comic, from the lines to the layout to the letters themselves, support his vision perfectly. I’ll be passing this one along to my parents.

References

Eisner, Will. (1978). A Contract with God. New York, NY: DC Comics.

I visited the Aw Yeah Comics shop in Harrison, NY. The first thing that struck me walking in was how colorful and spacious it was. Racks lined the wall on either side, with a broad open floor between them, taken up only by a folding table and some thematically upholstered chairs. There were numerous places to sit. Further back in the store, I saw bookcases filled with comics, a few arcade consoles, and a wall full of collectible figurines. The walls themselves were painted with bright swathes of color and white stars. At the very back was large window showing an artist workspace, complete with drawing table. I’d have liked to see an artist working there. By appearance, it was an engaging and appealing space.

There was one cashier and no customers when I went in. The cashier looked like the classic comics reader stereotype, heavy and balding. I said I had seen the Deadpool movie and was interested in finding an entry point for the comics themselves. The cashier showed me the floppies on the wall and found issues 1-6 of the current series, but couldn’t find #2. He told me this was a good jumping-off point. He offered no further assistance and left me to browse on my own.

I looked through the trade shelves, which were organized in alphabetical order. Marvel, DC and independent comics were mixed together. Some heavy phonebook-style trades stood out, like Usagi Yojimbo. Others were, while not lost, somewhat overwhelmed in the crush. It was otherwise quite neatly organized.

The section for manga was one bookshelf. It was waist high and mostly empty. There were some Naruto, Astro Boy and Lone Wolf And Cub anthologies. There were almost no standard manga trades.

On the wall between the trade bookshelves were the Staff Picks. It was beautifully designed and had a good mix of items on offer, from a Don Rosa Donald Duck collection to the Absolute Sandman collection (a good two feet high) to indie books I’d never heard of like Bunny in the Moon.

The All-Ages section was excellently laid out. There was a wall full of floppies, mostly of things like Tiny Titans and the kids’ line Marvel imprint. I spotted the My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic comics as well. The bottom shelf of the All Ages section had some trade paperbacks. Lumberjanes was included in the All Ages section, which is interesting because that particular comic has both a transgender character and a lesbian couple. For that reason I was mildly surprised to see it alongside Tiny Titans. Not disapproving, just surprised. There were a number of other all-ages trades stacked on tables or in the small bookcase under the window. I browsed trough Molly Danger and a comic about a young barbarian princess, which I believe was called Princess Ugga. It was very cute and I was tempted to buy, but ultimately I exercised enough self-control to keep the cost of my expedition down.

The back section had the figurines and other collectibles. There was a wall full of jointed action figures. There was a second counter with its own cash register, which had high-end collectibles and signed original prints on display. This section led to the display artist’s room, which according to the proprietor was occasionally used by a professional artist friend of his. He didn’t give any information as to when that might happen, or if the artist visited on a regular schedule.

My ultimate impression of the store was that well-designed and immaculately maintained. If I had visited during a different part of the week I’m sure I’d have seen a decent crowd, especially seeing how the layout encouraged patrons to linger. I’ve been in comic shops that don’t allow you to sit at all, much less provide seating for you. The selection, like the store itself, was quite small. Aw Yeah Comics is obviously a comics shop first, and a gaming or manga or collectible store second, if at all.

The customer service left quite a bit to be desired. I browsed the shelves for close to an hour as the only customer, yet the cashier never initiated engagement or checked to see if I needed anything beyond my initial entrance. All the latest mainstream floppies were available, but a much smaller selection of trade paperbacks. The All-Ages section was clearly marked and delineated from the rest of the store and had a good selection for kids. It was nearly the same size as the adult trade section, although I might have argued that a few of the books were more YA than all-ages.

Another area where I found the store to be lacking was in independent comics. The superhero floppies took up most of the store’s display space, well over half. The fact that the store was very superhero themed was communicated quite well by the décor, which was very pop art.  The Staff Picks was the only area where I saw non-mainstream comics prominently on display.

If I were a comics neophyte, I would be somewhat turned off by this store. Superhero comics are intimidating to break into and there was little else available, unless you were shopping for a child. The appearance was welcoming but the service wasn’t. If there were other people there when I entered, encouraged to linger a while by the many seats, then I might have gotten a feel for the community of the store. I’m sure that there is one.

As a librarian, I have to say that I’d love to borrow some of Aw Yeah Comics’ aesthetic and available space. It was so different from the cramped and narrow feel of many other comic stores that I’d be willing to stay there for a long time, reading from wall to wall. However, I wasn’t made to feel welcome by the staff, and after a while I felt like an intruder who owed something simply for having stayed for so long. I bought several floppies – all from Marvel, as I refuse to touch DC at the moment – and left.

I am grateful that the cashier double-bagged my floppies without being asked. It was raining quite hard.

Serantes’ discussion of the stereotypical comic book reader hits uncomfortably close to home for yours truly. She cites Halpern’s description (“not…popular, academic, socially mature”) but condemns it as too narrow a group to truly cover comic book readers. However, it must be pointed out that in 2002 when Halpern was published, North American comics were in a readership slump and had yet to become the mainstream powerhouse that they are today. [source] Nowadays readership is much wider than it was then. The teens who read comic books in the nineties or, God forbid, the early 2000s, were mostly outliers, making them by definition a little weird. Teenagers are strongly social, so those willing to be weird were probably loners and misfits. Obviously, this is a generalization, but it follows Halpern’s idea of comic readers as kids who “[didn’t] go to school dances.”

Serantes, by contrast, was published only three years ago, long after Marvel revitalized the superhero movie and DC rebooted its main property to bring in new readers. The shift in demographics over those ten years was dramatic enough to make Halpern’s stereotypes mostly obsolete. Comics are cool now. Cool kids can read them. This, of course, makes it easier to bring teens into libraries via comics, since they’re more widespread. (I personally remember using my library for that exact purpose as a teen.)

The history lesson is particularly fascinating. I was already familiar with Wertham’s “Seduction of the Innocent,” but I have never encountered Sterling North before. I’m aware that comics before the implementation of the Comics Code spanned from wholesome to lurid and borderline pornographic, so it’s easy to see how moral guardians of the era would have found such content objectionable. I also believe that the Comics Code was a gross overreaction that stunted the medium for decades afterward, but that’s only peripherally relevant. Suffice to say that the Code dramatically limited the kinds of stories that could be told in North American comics, arising as it did from the notion that comics were for children and confirming/adhering to that belief. “Adult” storytelling didn’t return to mainstream comics until the 80s.

The idea of graphic novels as a “hook” to draw in reluctant readers is not a new one, but the discourse around how effective they are as literary practice is interesting. There is definitely evidence that teens who aren’t interested in books might nonetheless pick up comics if they are exposed to them. However, are comics just an interim medium? Should readers be nudged towards “real” books once they’ve been made more comfortable with the idea of reading, or are comics literature in their own right? There’s as much variety in the medium as in books themselves. Maybe a comics reader could go on to read Twilight, or maybe they pick up Persepolis instead. Which direction has more value? Is the appeal for teens in the medium, or is it in the easy and digestible subject matter?

All I know is that the graphic novel section of libraries should offer as much variety as any other section. There’s no point in keeping a shelf stocked only with superhero stories.

My name is Miriam Saphra. I’m in my second semester of LIS at Queens, having graduated with a Bachelor’s in English Literature from Lehman College. I went to Westchester Community College before that and walked out with an Associate degree in Music Performance. I still play a mean jazz flute solo.

I was raised by feral hippies with interesting ideas about childrearing, like no soda junk food or or television. Because of this I read. A lot. Anything I could get my hands on. I devoured books (sometimes literally – it’s a long story). I did things like hide under covers with a flashlight after bedtime and smuggled books to school in my winter jacket after my teachers complained about me reading during class. Comic books came along later, after I was carefully allowed to watch the X-Men movie and then set loose inside a Barnes&Noble.

I spent a decade or so teenagering very, very hard (nobody understands my paaaaaaaaain) and then another decade muddling along in higher education. About seven years into a four-year degree, I managed to figure out what everyone around me already knew and realized that I desperately wanted to work in a library, with books and people who wanted books. I stopped failing classes and graduated and then came here.

Nowadays I work odd jobs, mostly with kids, and continue to read a lot. I read and follow a number of online comics (ask me for recommendations!). The hippies who raised me are now old and have multiple televisions and wear brand-name clothing. The wheel turns.

I’m looking forward to this class because COMIC BOOKS.