Eden: It's An Endless World

Although it took nearly a year to complete the manga, Eden: Its An Endless World, this nearly perfect science fiction tale with Gnostic themes is irresistible. Set in a postapocalyptic world of the future, no other manga series has quite captured the apparently pointless attempts at "solving" the problems of the world for it only to blow up in our collective faces. Uighurs, child soldiers, racism, environmental collapse, drug cartels and addiction, doctors trying to do their job, and the epic, but doomed to failure rescue mission to save Elijah's sister are all suspenseful, violent, and heartbreaking. Indeed, each protagonist has a backstory that led them on a path to violence, vengeance, or the search for power, but once their hands are bloody, they're never clean again. Yet, despite the seemingly endless conflicts, division, and destruction of human society, those who choose to resist joining the colloid (disclosure virus) make the hard choice of staying in our universe, finding meaning in the hope for a better future. Moreover, this is the only series we have read in which much of the story takes place in Peru, with a mix of cops, cartel dealers, gunman, and prostitutes occupy a central role. In fact, Peru is the setting for one of the great story arcs that pits Elijah, the main character, against gangsters and the sordid world of crime, drugs, and sex. Unfortunately, the ending of the series throws some curveballs at the reader and produces some deus ex machina characters/developments to wrap up loose ends. Nonetheless, we find the ending to be quite clever despite this. Indeed, with Maya and Alethia Lethia each staying in the respective "worlds," there is a great risk for both in terms of hope for a better future. 

Regrèt Nèt

Joel Lorquet's 1981 graphic novel, Regrèt Nèt, is an interesting read on a tragic subject: boat people. Written at a time when the boat people crisis was more frequent and demonization of Haitians was on the rise, it tells the tale of an unfortunate man whose miraculous survival ends in humiliation and defeat. While Lorquet's art style is a little too simplistic for my taste, he manages to convey in words and illustration the shame, fear, suffering, and all-too-human pain of misery that compels one to risk one's life in search of opportunity. The only other writer who has managed to capture the life of Haitian boat people like this is Edwidge Danticat in Krik Krak. Like Danticat's later short story, Lorquet's graphic novel conveys the full scope of the eponymous character's motivations for leaving Haiti as well as the harrowing journey doomed to end in tragedy.

I have long thought of slave ships when reading disheartening stories of boat people drowning at sea. The fate of Regrèt Nèt's ship brings this home. Indeed, the ship is destroyed a storm and crashing into reefs, which leads to many on board committing suicide. Although their trip to Miami was only to last 2 days, they're at sea for over a week without enough supplies. The crammed conditions below the deck, with an insufferable heat, are full of hungry people who paid 500 gourdes to risk their lives on this voyage. Tempers are wearing thin, and a fight over a bowl of mayi moulen leads to one man drowning. The dehumanizing conditions of their voyage have turned the passengers against each other. I can see the parallels with our enslaved ancestors who arrived in this hemisphere in similar conditions: crammed  together like sardines, suffering inhumane treatment, subjected to all forms of violence. 

While Regrèt Nèt miraculously survives by grasping a part of the destroyed boat until a ship en route to Puerto Rico rescues him, his fate and backstory are illustrative of the boatpeople dilemma in several ways. First, upon arrival in Puerto Rico, he is forced to take a variety of jobs which he would never have done in Haiti, such as domestic work and cleaning cars. After 8 months of grueling labor that he considered beneath him in Haiti (where he worked as a teacher in a rural school), he is arrested, humiliated, and deported by plane to Haiti, without his 8 months of saving. All of his labor and near-death experiences achieved nothing for him. Thus, he chooses to change his name to Regrèt Nèt, as his decision to try his luck in the land of his dreams achieved nothing but humiliation and shame. Indeed, he sacrificed his life as a schoolteacher, his land, and made promises to his wife and children that will go unfulfilled. 

The overall message of the comic is to urge those considering the risky venture of illegal migration by sea to reconsider. Yet it is very clear how and why the miserable living conditions in Haiti contribute to the pattern and cause many, including the educated Regrèt Nèt, to sacrifice his post as a teacher to find a solution in Mayami. But the multiple layers of exploitation and, for most, death via suicide or shipwreck, illustrate just how persistent the crisis was throughout the 1980s. Unfortunately, just how horrendous conditions were for those detained in centers is not mentioned in the graphic novel, but one can see hints of it in the callous treatment some officers have for Regrèt Nèt in Puerto Rico. Unsurprisingly, the graphic novel avoids any overt reference to the Duvalier dictatorship in fomenting the humanitarian disaster, but a corrupt local officer is bribed before the ship departs from Haiti. Thus, there is Haitian state complicity in the sordid affair.

Lorquet's graphic novel is also interesting to compare with Fanfan's adaptation of Masters of the Dew in Haitian Creole. While Lorquet continues to use French for the narration of his comic, both Fanfan and Lorquet use Creole for the dialogue and appear to have a vision of comics as a medium for the masses. Fanfan was likely the superior artist, since his characters and style are more vivid and memorable, including background scenes or scenery. It would also be interesting to discover to what extent both knew of each other and saw a future for comics in 1980s Haiti, particularly in the media which became increasingly critical of Jean-Claude Duvalier  and successive governments. Were comics to play a didactic role using the vernacular to reach the widest possible audience? What was the relationship between the medium and movements such as ti-legliz?

Atipa Comic Book

Atipa, the first novel in a Creole language, has recently been adapted into a bilingual comic. I would rather read the original novel first, but this is an interesting development that is suggestive of the importance of Atipa in French Guiana's Creole literature and heritage. This is so despite the fact that the novel was ignored for several decades after its initial publication in 1885. From what I have read of the work, most of the novel consists of the eponymous character walking through the streets of Cayenne, engaging his friends and acquaintances in long conversations about a plethora of topics germane to life in the late 19th century in the colony. For anyone interested in the structure of Guianese Creole during this time or the social and cultural world in which Atipa lived would find something valuable in it.

Aya de Yopougon

Reading comics yesterday evening reminded me of some of the joy I found in reading the Aya series during the spring. Although I had first encountered the series several years ago, I foolishly dismissed reading it until several conversations with comic book aficionados led me to consider it. And I am glad I did so. Marguerite Abouet and Clement Oubrerie's collaboration produced an excellent comic series in a setting usually ignored by most Western graphic novels or comic books. The series and the film based on it tell stories of normal, everyday people who happen to live in Abidjan, Ivory Coast. 

Although much of the Western media conception of places like Ivory Coast would lead one to think there is nothing there but misery and suffering, stories like Aya demonstrate the humanity and complexity of lives in Global South places often overlooked. Through the central character of Aya and her family, friends, and acquaintances, the series also manages to confront social issues (sexism, racism, immigration, homophobia, single mothers, marital infidelity) while delivering entwined stories imbued with the local color, sentiment, and vibrancy of 1970s Abidjan. 

The artistic style likewise succeeds. The lively use of color, line, and detail brings the dusty-streets of Yop City and its denizens to life. The film, unfortunately, fails to capture this magic, but brings with it the sounds of 1970s Ivory Coast to great effect. Oubrerie's artistic style, however, manages to avoid the zany, over the top cartoonish feel of The Rabbi's Cat. His stylized approach to drawing the human form, capturing a variety of details, hairstyles, and non-cliched backgrounds is simultaneously realistic and abstract. There's an almost hazy, uneven color palette and design that almost captures a 1970s feel, perhaps akin to a harmattan season in Ivory Coast. 

The late 1970s were perceived to be an era of prosperity for Ivory Coast. Unlike other countries in West Africa, the nation's economic growth, political stability, active musical scenes, and beginnings of consumer advertising (represented by TV ads in the film adaptation) suggest a highly sophisticated, cosmopolitan Abidjan, connected to Paris, the US, and international developments in popular culture. Indeed, the homosexual hairdresser looks like Michael Jackson, while Aya and her friends exhibit a cultural chic and style that's hard not to love. Their slang, expressions, and desire for youthful entertainment (dancing, dating, socializing with their peers) are universal and particular. 

Yet, Yop City is no beaming city on the hill. Social inequality exists, with Moussa's father being a great example of a self-made bourgeois who thinks little of Yop City's working-class and poor. The disconnect between the seemingly "modern" capital and village life is similarly stark, as those left behind in the village seem to fester in poverty or superstition while their urban migrant kin struggle to find work. Some, like Aya's father, work for a company and achieve status, others toil as mechanics, barbers, market vendors, domestics, or, in one case, a delinquent pretending to be a successful man in France who lives off his mother. Aya's friend, who becomes a single mother who cannot rely on her child's father for support, is forced to grow up faster by working as a fried food vendor in the local market. 

In addition, the characters must confront sexual harassment (Aya and her biology professor), homophobia (the hairdresser who confronts it both in Ivory Coast and France), bigotry (the hairdresser's travails in France to find lodging, love, acceptance), unfaithful spouses (Aya's father), and "traditional" values in a rapidly changing social context. No longer moored in the "village," and living in the topsy-turvy era of superficial economic progress, Aya and friends experience all the contradictions of modern life in the Global South. Perhaps that is part of the success of the series, its universal features. Indeed, while reading it, I could not help but think of Haiti, perhaps a Port-au-Prince of the 1970s captured so well by Dany Laferrière. There a similar dynamic of young people struggling to make their mark in the world while uncertain political and economic conditions threaten to unravel every decision. Aya achieves this for young women in Abidjan while ravishing the reader with the complications of quotidian existence in a place not too different from one's own background. 

Unfortunately, the only major flaw to Aya is the lack of a proper resolution for the series. The film drops several storylines and, unsurprisingly, feels rushed. The comic, however, also feels like it ends prematurely, without a proper send-off for the characters. What happens with Aya's half-siblings? How about Moussa and his father after the latter is finally tracked down? There is a conclusion, albeit fleeting. It's almost as if these engaging characters are only willing to share the stories of their lives with you for an afternoon, then disappear without a trace. I know Abouet continued the series through Aya's younger sister, but I was hoping for a greater climax and emotionally satisfying ending. There are several possibilities for a sequel, too, such as the Ivorian migrant experience in Paris. Or what becomes of Aya in adulthood, presumably finished with her university education and a professional? Will she still see her best friends, despite their different outcomes and ambitions? What about the status of young women in Abidjan of today? I suppose the only thing left to do is to try Commissaire Kouamé for Abouet's other comic series set in Ivory Coast. 

Met Larouzé

Fanfan's Met Larouzé, a Creole comics adaptation of Jacques Roumain's famous novel is a worthwhile read. In addition to translating Roumain's already linguistically intriguing novel into Creole, Fanfan also visualizes the story of Manuel and Fond Rouge in a compelling way. The depiction of the habitants of the region, suffering from a long drought and general misery, is detailed, showing to an almost painful degree the travails the Haitian population of the era thought. The comic is also very faithful to the original novel, perhaps embellishing or providing additional context here or there that might have been missing from the novel (such as the setting being near Crois des Bouquets). The Creole vocabulary used throughout also may change the meaning of some moments in the plot. For instance, Manuel being called chef of the syndicat (sindicat) instead of the konbit might be a hint towards the resurgence of labor in Haiti near the end of Jean-Claude Duvalier's regime. 

Unfortunately, since the comic does not use the standardized orthography for Haitian Creole I am most familiar with, there are a number of words I struggled to translate or find English or French equivalents for, but that's mostly my problem for not being a fluent speaker. Moreover, backgrounds for the panels are usually not depicted or very detailed, highlighting the centrality of the people themselves and their role in changing their fortune and environment. Of course, when Manuel shows Annaise the source of the water, the Eden-like setting comes to life vividly, without color. Otherwise, we get mostly pastoral and rural scenes, domestic scenes, or meetings at Larivoua's house. Again, the people of Fond Rouge are centered, especially Manuel's mother, Delira.

Delira, it would seem, experiences the most personal and psychological growth. Through her son's sacrifice and her own seizing of destiny, she rejects fatalistic notions of religion (Catholicism and Vodou), and becomes a heroic figure in her own right. Whereas the novel, if I remember correctly, featured a less determined, free-willed Delira, this comic book highlights her role. Once more, I cannot help but wonder if this possible change is due to the political climate of the early 1980s and Bon Nouvel's socially conscious, and culturally affirming journal. The Haitian community here, torn apart by a family feud and poverty, must come together and adapt their traditions to save themselves, which must have been relevant to audiences growing sick of Baby Doc.

It would be useful to compare this to the few other Haitian comics produced in the 1980s by Lorquet, whose comics were original stories with socially relevant commentary on Haitian migrant workers, boatpeople, AIDS, and other issues of the day. Of course, it would also be worthwhile to compare Fanfan's work with the short-lived Haitian comics journal of the 1940s, Zobopes, if it can be located. One wonders why Haitian Creole comics failed to take off? And what to make of the Haitian graphic novel as a literary form that can adopt and adapt masterpieces of the Haitian canon? And the impact of the comics of the late 19th century? The continued use of proverbs, as well as social satire or comedy can be found. Indeed, the use of some of the same proverbs and critique of rapacious elites, corrupt officials, and the 'color question' can be found in both Le Zinglin and Met Larouzé.

Ibrahim Njoya's Innovative Work

Battle of Manga

While reading about African writing systems, the kingdom of Bamum crossed my radar. Their visionary king, also called Ibrahim Njoya, formed an alliance with Fulbe Muslims to secure his throne and initiated a series of progressive reforms. One of them being a writing system, but also support for the arts, particularly the works of his relative, Ibrahim Njoya. Naturally, this led to Dan Mazur's detailed article on Njoya's life and work. It's clear that his work represents an indigenous development of a comic book, with the text written in the local Bamum script devised by his king to accompany his own incredibly detailed and unique style, depicting the kingdom's history, its traditions, etc. He worked across multiple mediums and, if French colonial policies had been less intrusive, perhaps Ibrahim Njoya could have established in the 1920s and 1930s an African tradition of comics unlike what could be found in colonial newspapers across much of the continent. For more examples of Njoya's work, as well as that of other artists of Bamum, Les dessins bamum contains a plethora of additional sources. The photographs delineate the various styles and influences apparent in Njoya's oeuvre. 

Conte de la rate et ses quatre ratons

Why I Love Detective Conan/Case Closed

I've loved Detective Conan (Case Closed in the US) since middle school. Though I am not a huge anime/manga freak like some folks are, I appreciate a good detective story and some anime, such as Cowboy Bebop and Samurai Champloo. I first discovered the poorly dubbed anime on television, but quickly learned to prefer the manga. The anime was also weakened by the attempts to take the show out of its Japanese context, even going as far as giving every character English or non-Japanese names and taking the story out of its Tokyo setting, which is actually central to the world crafted by Gosho Aoyama, the creator of the manga. Recently, I began re-watching and reading the anime and manga, but am a little turned off by how the episodes seem to go on beyond 600! As in, you know, 600 episodes of a TV show. I could never watch it in its entirety, but I plan on watching select episodes of the series with subtitles to avoid the horrible English dubbing. If only the series were shorter...and they got rid of the Junior Detective League-heavy cases where young Conan Edogawa has to collaborate with children who befriend him. Anywho, here are some of my reasons for loving this series:

1. Reading the manga is an intertextual experience. Many of the characters have named that are tributes to writers and detectives of mystery fiction, such as Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle, a cafe called Poirot, and even an American FBI agent named for the agent in The Silence of the Lambs. In addition, at the end of each book, Gosho Aoyama has little snippets on favorite detectives of his, including Sherlock Holmes, Poirot, Father Brown, Hannibal, and many others. As a youth getting more and more into detective fiction, the manga helped out with numerous recommendations.

2. Though cheesy and a little unbelievable for so long (Jimmy Kudo, high school detective wiz, is turned into a child by a little substance and lives with Rachel, and they 'like' each other so the element of teen romance appears often), because Conan/Jimmy solves most cases by hitting Rachel's father over the head (or sometimes Rachel's friend Serena) with a gadget made by Dr. Agasa, then uses his bowtie voice simulator to speak in the voice of older folks so as to make his deductions believable. Also, there is at least one moment where Rachel figures out that Conan is Jimmy Kudo, her high school not-quite boyfriend, but she is somehow persuaded by Jimmy's mother that he isn't Kudo. The campiness and lack of realism in the series is probably part of the appeal, and allows the series to go on for so long. Indeed, from what I've read, the series is widely popular in Japan, and the quirkiness, humor, and cultural references are permeated with Toyko and Japanese references that can be hard to follow as a non-Japanese reader, yet still humorous. For instance, Richard, Rachel's (Ran) father, is an alcoholic slob after any cute face and his arrogance is hilarious! The comedic elements of the series really make it more bearable, and the typical high school romance theme between Rachel and Jimmy (Shinichi in the Japanese original)

3. The actual mysteries are often difficult to crack. Some of them are a little over the top or too bizarre to ever discover on your own, but the thrill of correctly identifying the murderer is an endless thrill. Indeed, the developing plot where Anita's character is introduced and we gradually learn more about the Men in Black from a Syndicate which had used the drug that turned Jimmy into a child becomes more and more engaging, although, again, drawn out way too long. I am still unsure of what exactly happens, but more characters are introduced, and the possibility of Rachel's father and mother getting together again becomes another lingering pairing with comedic effect.

4. Oh, did I mention how in the one time I saw a black person in the manga, he wasn't a caricature? In one of the cases, Kudo and Rachel are in New York City for a Broadway show with Kudo's actress mother, and, well, naturally murder occurs during the show. One of the police investigators is a black man, depicted with dark skin and glasses and none of that Mr. Popo Japanese anti-black racism stuff. Similarly, in one of the earlier cases in the series, a half-Brazilian, half-Japanese character appears and he is quite dark-skinned but lacking any of those caricature-like depictions of black people that proliferate in Japanese popular culture. I applaud such practices on the part of the manga-ka, Gosho Aoyoama, since seeing Mr. Popo-like blackface caricatures in Japanese anime and manga helped turn me away from most of it.

So, overall, I love Detective Conan because it's humorous, interesting, engaging, entertaining, is educational for non-Japanese readers (with references to Japanese culture, history, mythology, Tokyo, Osaka, etc.) and the campiness of the series gives in some charm. Though excessively long, the series achieves its main goal in entertaining readers or watchers. Perhaps I'll watch some of the movies, too, since it's been too long since that. In addition, my love for this series is the origin of my email address.