Graffic Traffic
by Ryk McIntyre
illustration by Greg Prindeville
A rare and almost always enjoyable thing happened today at the comic book store I manage. (The name of the store is not given because this column is written, not to sell comics, but to praise them. Or damn them. And speaking of damn comics, next month: the current “bad girl” craze in men’s comics, and if we hit it with a stick will it go away?) A woman came in, and she was there to buy comics for herself! This is not some sexist condescension, trust me. In a business where the clientele is 90% male, mostly young and sometimes washed, a woman who isn’t there “to pick up her boyfriend’s comics” seems to be too, too rare. I think out of all our subscription customers (about 75), three of them are women. And by and large, the comics they like, I like. We share a general dislike/boredom of almost all the superhero operas. Although I’m that way from overexposure, they were usually never into it to begin with. Again, I learn a valuable lesson from women.
Anyway, we got to talking as I was finding stuff for her (Sandman, Love & Rockets, Strangers in Paradise, various Vertigo titles). I was telling her how good her taste was, how rare it was I had a customer I could talk to about the books I most enjoy supporting. Then the conversation turned to her experiences in and around the scene: comic stores, conventions, artist signings, etc. The long, long, too long looks from guys who are possibly trying to figure out A) why she’s there, alone; and B) why she doesn’t look like Mary Jane Parker or, better yet, Lady Death (respectively the wife of Spiderman and a woman much like Elvira but, in these hard economic times, more uh, inflated). And amongst most clerks, there are the “hopelessly helpful stuttering shy boys or the “ick! girls in our sacred male fantasy temple” misogynists that sniff or sigh at her utterly mundane sales questions. (Sample: She asks where the latest Sandman is. He surly suggests she she search under “S.” Alliterative bastard, ain’t he?)
Oh guys, oh my fellow men, lighten up. Read Love & Rockets for some gentle lessons, for although it is done by Los Brothers Hernandez, it is still one of the most female-friendly books out there. Or if you’re really, really brave, try Naughty Bits by Roberta Gregory (like L&R, a Fantagraphics book). A great book for any guy who really wants an answer to “what do women think about?” Hilariously and often poignantly lived through Bitchy Bitch, an every-woman trying to live in a man’s world and survive doing it. Consistently a great book, as is anything Roberta Gregory does. Check out mail-order info on her other projects!
Another fine comics-by-women comic is the collection On Our Butts (Acon Press/various self publishers). There are a lot of different approaches/techniques here, but all are engaging. My initial favorites were “Why Do You Put Yourself Down So Much?” by Ariel Bordeaux; Gabby Gamboa’s adaptation of the Johnny Cash song, “Frankie’s Man, Jonnie;” the hilarious and uplifting “Soul Sucker” by Janelle Hessig, and “976-Ferchrissakes” by M.C. Betz – an unnerving tale that explains its title at the end of the story.
And the more I re-read it, the more I also gotta mention “Ugly” and “On Turning 21,” both by Chantelle Doyle (who can really look within, yet do so without cloying self-pity); “Total Angst in No Shoes” by Jackie McLaughlin; “Doyz & Hogz” by Fly; “Motor Cycle Boy” by Fawn Gehweller; “Broken” by Anna Costa; and “Spaces of Fear” in which Megan Kelso shows what it’s like for a girl to go solo to a rock gig and then home, late at night. Last of all (because I re-read it so many times) is “Little Goth Girl,” an Edward Gorrey-esque tale of woe, three clove cigarettes and Death, oh the Death!
No material here fails. And unlike costume Superoperas, the more you commit to it, the more you uncover and learn. That’s called a relationship. As a parting glimpse on this collection, consider Jessica Abel’s back cover piece, “Oh My Sisters,” which juxtaposes brilliantly the difference between what a woman does when some leering reptile makes a lewd remark and what she’d like to do. All of it’s good, very good. I recommend listening to Jill Sobule and soaking in a warm bath while reading this amazing collection.
Oh, and to that anonymous woman who came into my shop; if I stared too much or stuttered, it’s ’cause I’m a shy, shy boy.
