News
Literary Decor
This week, I've been reading Rikki Ducornet's most recent story collection, The One Marvelous Thing. I heard Ducornet, who lives in Port Townsend, read some of these stories at Elliot Bay back in December. I was completely taken.
Her language is surprising, her situations bizarre and hilarious, and her characters vivid—utterly strange, yet familiar.
And yet what makes The One Marvelous Thing really unique is that it's illustrated—or rather, according to the cover, "decorated"—by comic artist T. Motley. Ducornet, an Academy of Arts and Letters award winner who is also an accomplished visual artist and poet, creates unforgettable images with words alone, and so it's hard to imagine them benefitting from any elaboration. But Motley's detailed, gothic ladies and other oddities (human and nonhuman) add sexuality, bravado, and humor that complement and subvert Ducornet's stories. Totally fun.
In the first of two stories named "Koi," a summer writing program director is faced with a challenge. A famous Anarcho-Dadaist poet, who has come to teach her disciples, dies promptly upon arrival. The only last minute-option for a new instructor is the program director's wife, who, unfortunately, is a Neo-Formalist. "They'll eat me alive," she protests, but then very quickly converts to Anarcho-Dadaism herself. She curates a show featuring the dead writer's corpse, which has been "transmuted to plastic cubes."
T. Motley's rendering of the director's wife, the corpse, and the Anarcho-Dadaists brings to mind Steadman's drawings for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas— they illustrate the story and, at the same time, the beautifully twisted mind of the author.
Apparently, illustrations were a regular part of grown-up fiction—particularly in serials—until the early 20th century, when writers (Henry James, for example) decided that pictures weren't appropriate for serious books. This perception is certainly changing as lit mags have started interspersing illustrations regularly into their stories, and as readers lean more toward graphic novels and other forms of visual storytelling.
Reading with illustrations is a much different experience than reading graphic novels, though. Graphic novels require a more intense sort of double reading—taking in the words and the images at the same time. Illustrations, especially darkly comic ones like these, are more of a relief. They let you step back from what you've just read to look at someone else's interpretation, or just to laugh. They also let you flip ahead for picture previews of what you might be reading next. It's like a little break. And who needs a break more than "serious" readers of literary fiction?
Quick announcement: Starting next week, "A Nabokov a Month." I'll be reading a Nabokov book on the first Sunday of every month leading up to the publication of his unfinished manuscript, The Original of Laura, on November 3rd. First up: Invitation to a Beheading.
Her language is surprising, her situations bizarre and hilarious, and her characters vivid—utterly strange, yet familiar.
And yet what makes The One Marvelous Thing really unique is that it's illustrated—or rather, according to the cover, "decorated"—by comic artist T. Motley. Ducornet, an Academy of Arts and Letters award winner who is also an accomplished visual artist and poet, creates unforgettable images with words alone, and so it's hard to imagine them benefitting from any elaboration. But Motley's detailed, gothic ladies and other oddities (human and nonhuman) add sexuality, bravado, and humor that complement and subvert Ducornet's stories. Totally fun.
In the first of two stories named "Koi," a summer writing program director is faced with a challenge. A famous Anarcho-Dadaist poet, who has come to teach her disciples, dies promptly upon arrival. The only last minute-option for a new instructor is the program director's wife, who, unfortunately, is a Neo-Formalist. "They'll eat me alive," she protests, but then very quickly converts to Anarcho-Dadaism herself. She curates a show featuring the dead writer's corpse, which has been "transmuted to plastic cubes."
T. Motley's rendering of the director's wife, the corpse, and the Anarcho-Dadaists brings to mind Steadman's drawings for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas— they illustrate the story and, at the same time, the beautifully twisted mind of the author.
Apparently, illustrations were a regular part of grown-up fiction—particularly in serials—until the early 20th century, when writers (Henry James, for example) decided that pictures weren't appropriate for serious books. This perception is certainly changing as lit mags have started interspersing illustrations regularly into their stories, and as readers lean more toward graphic novels and other forms of visual storytelling.
Reading with illustrations is a much different experience than reading graphic novels, though. Graphic novels require a more intense sort of double reading—taking in the words and the images at the same time. Illustrations, especially darkly comic ones like these, are more of a relief. They let you step back from what you've just read to look at someone else's interpretation, or just to laugh. They also let you flip ahead for picture previews of what you might be reading next. It's like a little break. And who needs a break more than "serious" readers of literary fiction?
Quick announcement: Starting next week, "A Nabokov a Month." I'll be reading a Nabokov book on the first Sunday of every month leading up to the publication of his unfinished manuscript, The Original of Laura, on November 3rd. First up: Invitation to a Beheading.
Filed under
Share
Show Comments
