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Farewell, Dreamer
"As I grew older and accumulated more memories, I came to feel more keenly about the disappearances of people and landmarks. Especially troubling to me was the callous removal of buildings. I felt that, somehow, they had a kind of soul. I know now that these structures, barnacled with laughter and stained by tears, are more than lifeless edifices. It cannot be that having been part of life, they did not somehow absorb the radiation of human interaction. And I wonder what is left behind when a building is torn down." I never met Will Eisner.
But I, like many others connected to the comics industry, whether as a reader, creator or both, was never lucky enough to meet Will Eisner. You heard things about the man. A kind word at a busy lunch table in the middle of a convention floor. An encouraging word in a nervous ear on the dais at a panel. A courteous, easygoing nature that set tongue-tied tyros at ease and saw him casually drape an arm over the shoulder of those who were humbled by his accomplishments, his body of work and his sheer genius. He stood on no ceremony, though he could have stepped onto the pedestal we all built for him. He was just this guy, you know? This guy from the Bronx who told stories like your grandpa with a knowing smile and a pocket full of dreams. But Will Eisner never kept his dreams in his pockets. And he never told the same story twice. There were many things that struck me about Eisner. His career spanned from the pre-war comic strip/cartoon sweatshops until today's golden age of renewed interest in the medium he helped birth. In "his day", as he recounts in his thinly veiled autobiography THE DREAMER, cartoonists hustled for work, putting out strips and gags for magazines at three to five bucks a shot. It was the origin of what we now refer to as the freelancer lifestyle, and eventually these henny-penny cartoonists, yearning for a stable income, hitched their wagons to packaging studios. Eisner was behind one of these studios with his partner Jerry Iger, and the two employed some of the greatest cartoonists of the day, from Jack Kirby to Mort Meskin to Lou Fine. Here were guys, mostly from European Jewish backgrounds (and we're talking pre-1930s mentality Jews, here) who decided they'd try their hand at making a buck with a pencil and paper rather than a needle and thread. These were Jews fighting to get out of the ghetto with comics in a time when the only ways out for Jews were well-to-do marriages, the growing garment district, and organised crime. 'The packaging studio'. I recently commented to a colleague that I find it interesting how Eisner witnessed the birth of comics via the 'assembly line' bullpens of the packaging studio, and was around to behold their second coming via studio houses such as Udon, Grafik Sismik and the like. While in Eisner's days, the studio was housed in a single edifice (where the layout man handed boards to an inker who handed it to a letterer and so on), the studios of today pass their work around via the 'virtual packaging studio' of the internet. And I believe that thought would have fascinated Will Eisner. The cyclical nature of the medium. The growing interest of 'graphic novels as art' in mainstream media. Because, though I never met him, I could tell he was simply hypnotised by comics, and the inherent potential in both the medium and craft involved therein. "The format of the comic book presents a montage of both word and image, and the reader is thus required to exercise both visual and verbal interpretive skills. The regimens of art (e.g. perspective, symmetry, brush stroke) and the regimens of literature (e.g. grammar, plot and syntax) become superimposed upon each other. The reading of the comic book is an act of both aesthetic perception and intellectual pursuit." - Will Eisner, COMICS AND SEQUENTIAL ART What do you see when you look at a SPIRIT story? Is it the lush, richly drawn artwork? The dames, seductive and inviting as they tempt you into fatal lures? Is it the action, as Denny Colt cocks a fist and decks you into the next three panels? Or perhaps you're a cynic, and it's everything you deem wrong with the book, from nitpicking over the 'inappropriately goofy' bigfoot style that I've heard many an armchair critic harp on about, to complaining about the rash of stereotypes that's gotten folks up in arms just so they'll have something to be up in arms about. Not me. I'm a graphic designer by trade, and the first thing I see are big letters drawn into the side of a shadowy brick building. Innovative type treatments that are simply part of the artwork, as opposed to the slap-a-caption and masthead style you see in many modern comic books. Eisner was the first cartoonist to meld the worlds of graphic design and comic books, and the typography of the Spirit stories ? continued throughout the rest of his graphic novels ? set the stage for deeply complex tales intricately connected to each other and to the readers' emotions. From the DROPSIE AVENUE trilogy (focusing on a small block in the Bronx) to his LAST DAY IN VIETNAM, Eisner never hesitated to use the skills at his command to motivate his readers, make them think and, above all, inspire them in ways too multifaceted to recount. Often his stories did not follow a central character, but used a plot device, camera angle or object to tie his narrative together, not unlike Orson Welles' CITIZEN KANE. In fact, pundits better than I have gone on record pronouncing Eisner as the comics industry's Welles, and excerpts of Michael Chabon's Pulitzer Prize-winning THE ADVENTURES OF KAVALIER AND CLAY pay homage to his storytelling in scenes set after the Eisner-inspired protagonists' viewing of KANE. I never met Will Eisner, yet he taught me so much, as a reader, as a creator... and as a Jew. Eisner's work heavily dwells on Jewish themes, and while I count THE SPIRIT and THE DREAMER my favourites, there's a part of me that feels closest to those Judaism-centric graphic novels. A CONTRACT WITH GOD, A LIFE FORCE, DROPSIE AVENUE and THE NAME OF THE GAME are all infused with early 20th Century New York events and characters that create an atmosphere that has come to be known as Eisneresque. These are tales that do not hide their European roots, adding a shikseh here and a shtarkah there, amid chapter titles like 'On the Top Floor, Back, Lived G-d'. I can smell the Friday night meals around which these tales were born, and I recognise family members all the way down the avenues, stopping to look for cockroaches, love affairs, and wonderful title treatments hidden in stoops, bricks and clothing lines. A year or so ago, when relating a graphic novel idea to a friend, he made an off-hand remark to me asking if the story would have a Jewish theme. At the time I was working on a graphic novel about the Jewish Mafia, and another about a synagogue in New Jersey, and bristled at the idea that all of my work had to have some kind of Jewish theme. When Judd Winick's CAPER was published, one of my gripes was that the creators used too many 'yiddishisms' in the dialogue. Though many Jewish mobsters in the day were bred in yiddishe houses, they didn't all walk around spouting 'oy gevalts' at a moment's notice. Many, in fact, tried to blend in. I suppose the yid in me bristled at the stereotype that all Jews have big noses and talk funny. Sure, the Jews in Eisner's work can be labelled stereotypical. But Eisner was one of those Jews. Like the rest of his work, he pulled no punches and hid no truths. The window shades were open, and he showed us faults and affected accents. He laid bare lusts, sins, desires, hopes, yearnings and dreams no matter whether in the Bronx, Vietnam or Central City. I never met Will Eisner, but news of his death shattered me. A great bulk of what I do as a cartoonist and storyteller - especially a Jewish storyteller - has been inspired by Eisner's work, his style and the worlds he created. Not only did he reinvent the wheel and pave the way for the future of the graphic novel, but he inspired so many creators, fans, readers, and storytellers, making sure that there's a bit of him in all of us. Everything we do as comic book creators, graphic novelists or storytellers has been and will be inspired by the work, passion and genius of Eisner. The passage that opened this piece comes from the foreword of Eisner's book, THE BUILDING, which relates four interconnected stories centred on a skyscraper that, after years, is removed to make way for a newer building. I first read that piece in the DC Comics/Dark Horse 9-11 tribute book, and the day I learned of Eisner's passing it was the first thing I thought of. Not because I compare his death to the death of a building, but because of Eisner's musing in the foreword: "I wonder what is left behind when a building is torn down." It's a foundation, Mr Eisner. A foundation that you built, and we will build from. Farewell, dreamer. Neil Kleid is a Xeric-winning New York writer, cartoonist and graphic designer, whose works include LATE NIGHT BLOCK, NINETY CANDLES, and the forthcoming BROWNSVILLE from NBM. Ninth Art endorses the principle of Ideological Freeware. The author permits distribution of this article by private individuals, on condition that the author and source of the article are clearly shown, no charge is made, and the whole article is reproduced intact, including this notice. Back. |
In the wake of his death on January 3rd 2005, the internet was inundated with memories and stories about the man known as the father of the graphic novel. There were touching expressions from colleagues and cohorts, professionals and pundits. Message boards were filled to capacity with warm sentiments from creators and fans alike that tugged at heartstrings. Stories weaved their way through a mourning industry, embedding themselves in the heart of a community like title letters through a splash page in a method that has simply come to be known as "Eisneresque".