CCS Bonus Week: Jarad Greene's Scullion

This week, I'm going to do some reviews of recent work from students and alumni of the Center for Cartoon Studies. I generally tend to do this in December, but with some recent work coming in, I thought I'd post it now rather than wait nearly a year.

First up is Jared Greene's debut YA graphic novel, Scullion. From his earliest comics at CCS, it was clear that Greene had all the necessary tools to become a highly successful YA cartoonist. The clarity of his line, the whimsical quality of his ideas, and his distinctive character design marked him as someone who knew what he was doing. He turned his senior year thesis into this first book for Oni Press, and he had the fortune of having Hazel Newlevant as one of his editors.

The plot of Scullion picks up on standard fairy-tale tropes and subverts them in fun ways. The story revolves around two scullions--dishwashers--in the royal kitchen as it prepares for the wedding of the warrior Riqa and her intended, the captain of the royal guards Chapp. The scullions, Darlis and Mae, are trying to find their purpose in life and are inspired by the noble deeds and best-selling advice book from Riqa. In a very amusing send-up of celebrity culture, her fame draws obsessive fan interest and trashy media coverage.

Greene skillfully maneuvers his characters to cause all kinds of confusion. In many ways, this is a story of mistaken identity causing comedy, which goes all the way back to Shakespeare (and earlier!). What makes this book stand out, apart from Greene's art, is the sly way he subverts gender and gender expectations. Riqa is a huge icon for both men and women, and everyone has read her book. Darlis, a teen boy, bears a resemblance to her, and these mistaken identities aren't a big deal besides causing trouble within the context of the plot. No one says a thing about a male resembling a female, nor should they--but it feels like a bold move in a YA book. There are various characters of color in prominent roles, as well as women--and it's simply the foundation of the book.

The book also satirizes exploitative capitalism, as greedy troll bandits concoct all sorts of money-making schemes. When they kidnap Darlis, who through a ridiculous series of coincidences winds up dressed like Riqa, they think they have someone they can hold for ransom. Throughout the book, Darlis, Mae, Riqa, and the missing Chapp all have their own clever and brave moments. Greene smoothly navigates them from one bit of peril to another, even if it's all light-hearted.

Greene uses pages with standard grids, but also splash pages, open-page layouts, overlapping panels, and other layout tricks that reflect the unpredictability of the plot. The end incorporates the characters finding the bravery and resolve to seek out their best selves as well as some clever ecological statements, noting that ambition without moral action is corrupt. There are hints of future conflicts for the characters, and while another book would be welcome, it was a genuine pleasure to read a YA book that wasn't obviously designed to be part one of a twelve-volume epic. Indeed, the relatively low stakes in this book were refreshing, focusing on the character-generated comedy and the mechanics of how they get from one situation to the next. Greene's own quirks as a cartoonist (he often portrays his characters leaning forward while in motion) mark Scullion very much as its own entity, rather than more of the same. 

Thirty Days of CCS #5: Joyana McDiarmid, Jarad Greene, Mary Shyne

Jarad Greene has distinguished himself thus far as an excellent YA comics maker, but in his Memories of a Former Porcelain Doll, he relates an autobiographical story about appearances, the cruelty of peers and eventual body dysmorphia. That was in the form of skin problems, which he experienced later than most teens. The irony is that in middle school, his skin was perfect but he still used Clearasil. Only he accidentally used the kind that had concealer in it, leading his classmates to call him a porcelain doll and make fun of him for “wearing makeup”. Things got worse in his senior year when he actually developed acne for real, and it proved resistant to every standard treatment. That forced him to go on Accutane, an effective drug with brutal side effects, including skin so dry that it peels off and horrible arm rashes. 

There are also psychological side effects that he managed to dodge, and the end of the first issue finds him happy and ready to go to college. However, this story is told in flashback, and he let the readers know that his problems would return. He presages that at the very beginning of the story, where it’s not just having skin problems, it’s the fear of them always returning, triggered by any number of factors (including stress and anxiety). Greene uses a simple, clear line in a mostly naturalistic style that still allows him to be expressive when necessary. The occasional bulging eyes, sponge head, skull face and other self-descriptors add to the drama in a way that doesn’t take the reader out of the story. In many respects, they’re a way of Greene telling a ghost story about himself; a tale of his own haunting from mysterious, outside forces that tortured him. 

Joyana McDiarmid's Long Division #5 concludes the bracing, honest and uncompromising look at depression and suicide that was based on true, personal events. The first four issues featured the main character, Elena, in her stay at the psychiatric hospital and flashbacks to what led up to her suicide attempt. Struggling with bipolar disorder, she found herself unable to take care of herself or reach out to others for help. Ingeniously, McDiarmid used the metaphor of the branching nervous system as a way of visualizing her mental state, with her depression slowly blotting out healthy functions. McDiarmid's line is fine and expressive, and she's especially great at character design and drawing clothing.

The last issue is deliberately quiet and understated after the frantic quality of the four issues preceding it, both in terms of the day-to-day events and the stark metaphorical imagery seen in the early issues. It's McDiarmid's way of acknowledging that life is not a neat narrative, and that the struggle with mental illness, even with all the support, therapy and medication that's needed, is one that will always have good days and bad days. This issue features a difficult conversation between Elena and her ex-boyfriend, with whom she discusses her suicide attempt for the first time. Their relationship had been rocky and he had come off as self-righteous, and while an understanding of sorts is reached between the two of them, he tried to make her suicide attempt all about him. "I feel terrible, I really should have seen it coming" is a phrase he repeated, as he in no way tried to show empathy. Unsaid in the narrative is Elena's understanding that while she felt a responsibility to talk to him about it, she was not in any way responsible for his feelings about it.

The rest of the issue features Elena's attempts at self-care: hanging out with friends and family, getting rest, and generally being gentle with herself. We see her struggle with weight gain and her academic work while finding ways to accept those feelings. We can see the background paintings in her room echoing the anatomical imagery McDiarmid used throughout the series. Finally, the imagery of branches meets reality as she climbs up a tree, rests on a firm branch, and simply breathes. The image of disappearing a little with each breath and then reappearing reflects an exercise in acceptance. It's a beautiful, understated way of providing not so an ending as a coda or a grace note.

Incompatible, by Mary Shyne. This is one of the smartest, starkest self-examinations I've ever read when it comes to relationships. The high concept is simple: she includes one example from each of the twelve Zodiac signs of a man she dated with that sign. It's in order of the traditional Zodiac, starting with Aries and finishing with Pisces. It's one page per partner, each page a six-panel grid. Shyne efficiently uses that space to offer highlights, lowlights and particularly visceral and graphic images that really drive home what each relationship was all about. For example, the Aries that she kicked things off with two panels about how she met this particular guy and his impeccable dressing habits, while noting (with raised eyebrows) that his penis was two different colors, "almost like a pudding cup". The last three panels touch on how conscious she was that he never took her out, most likely because of her weight. It's a marvel of great cartooning (clear, bold lines, with an extra thick line weight for her glasses, her dominant accessory) and efficiency, as there are no wasted lines.

Another relationship wound up with her hating herself for how much she wanted one sort of indifferent guy to love her. Another was a platonic relationship where she actually liked the role of Friend that men often assigned to her. There are almosts, guys she broke up with because they needed more than she could give, guys who friend-zoned her, and a guy who made her feel safe but with whom she didn't have a sexual connection. Shyne is great at drawing bodies, and her own self-caricature is both full of clever details (freckles, glasses, shape of nose and eyebrows) and economical in terms of its overall presentation. There are times when her choices regarding negative space (she only spots blacks here and there) give her pages a slightly hollow feel, but her line is so engaging that it doesn't matter much. Above all else, her understanding of gesture, expression and bodies interacting in space is top notch, and that's the key to making this comic work so well. 

Thirty-One Days of CCS #2: Jarad Greene

Jarad Greene will graduate CCS in 2017, and his path has been an interesting one. He started off studying criminology & criminal justice, added theater studies and is now getting his MFA in cartooning. His comics employ a smooth, pleasant line deployed for a number of different storytelling and genre choices. Scene & Heard is an autobio comic about that very transition from his pre-law studies to embracing the arts. It studies the progression of choosing acting over speech as something that could help his future law career, precisely because it seemed more intimidating but also more potentially rewarding. The drama classes he took were grueling because it demanded a level of emotional presentness in the moment that is difficult to achieve, but once he did, it unlocked a new level of confidence in him as a person. What I like about this comic is that while there are psychological and emotional components in becoming an actor, Greene reveals that it's mostly a lot of practice, work and repetition--pretty much like any art or skilled activity. This comic is also all about understanding one's skill level when contemplating what to do next. Success for Greene meant conquering his first scene, building on everything he had learned up to that point. Unspoken in all of this is how this process obviously repeated itself in making this comic. Greene keeps things simple, staying within his wheelhouse as a draftsman but aggressively using unusual page designs to break up his story, varying panel size and layout as a way of modulating emotion and action. It's a very "talky" comic, but Greene also knew when to shut up and let the images take over the storytelling, like in one sequence where we see him really start to fall in love with acting.

Glass Figurines is a melodramatic slice-of-life piece most notable for Greene trying to use as much restraint as possible in not overloading the reader with backstory at the beginning of the story. It's about a guy going back home after the death of his uncle, and we quickly learn that his dad decided not to return with him for a variety of reasons. Withholding that information was important because the comic is really about how we process grief and the ugly practicalities that follow the dead after they have passed. In this case, there's a family dispute over an assortment of family knick-knacks, some of which are valuable, and one of the children who wants to sell as much of it as possible. Greene has a way of being fair to all sides involved, not underestimating the enormous psychological and emotional burden it can be to be a caretaker for someone who is dying and how after their death they need to be able to recoup some of that debt. The ending, where some beloved figurines become available after one is accidentally broken, is a bit on the treacly side.

When She Goes Skating Off The Moon is a well-crafted comic for children, with a great central hook: a young girl lacing up her roller skates when she falls asleep and zooming across the sky and around the moon. From there, she goes on all sorts of journeys across the world, both real and conceptual. Greene's fluid line and use of color are key here, along with a number of imaginative concepts and layouts. For example, on the page where she navigates "waterfalls of fountain pens", Green expertly leads the readers eye down and across the page and into the next page, filled with kinetic keywords like "zipping" and "spinning". Green doubles down on purples in this comic, reminiscent of Crocker Johnson's classic Harold And The Purple Crayon in the way it equates purple with the night. It's a charming little story, albeit one with no real sense of conflict or urgency, just pure fun.

The Fortress Charm is Greene's foray into fantasy comics. It's by far the most clever of Greene's comics and the one with the most unexpected twist, in large part because of the way Greene uses fantasy tropes that keep the reader guessing wrong. It's about a witch/alchemist type and her eager young gatherer/apprentice. After the apprentice kept bugging her for something to do, the witch gave her a simple job: to gather a flower from the ruins of an old castle, but dousing it in a potion before she gathered it. In the span of a few pages, what seemed to be an upbeat but typical quest/coming-of-age story turned into something far more sinister, and the reasons why were explained with no dialogue in a single panel. Greene accomplished the rare task of creating an entirely satisfying short story while leaving the reader wanting more. Fantasy may well be his best choice for future projects, because it's clear that he has a knack for navigating standard expectations of the genre and then subverting them in interesting ways.