Jeet Heer offered some thoughts on the editorial thinking behind the new Drawn + Quarterly John Stanley Library books.
He was not involved with the editorial decisions on this series, but he has spoken with some of the individuals who put these books together.
What he has to say makes sense to me. It also clears up any misgivings adult readers might have about these books.
Please read Jeet's words and consider them...
I think the MM book is a great kids book. I have witness[ed] a few families I know who are really enjoying it. [The addition of] a long introduction (in the mode of Walt and Skeezix and other books) would have been a mistake since it would make the series seem archival rather than living kids books.
There's plenty of time to do an archival edition later: right now I think it's more important to get kids reading Stanley again as they did in the 1950s and 1960s. Once there is an audience for his work, then there will be room for a more focused study of the man.
I agree with him: it's important to get these comix back into the hands of kids! Dark Horse's paperback Little Lulu books have sold well and been very much enjoyed by kids. Although Stanley's stories can be enjoyed by adults, as with Barks' work, there is much to be gained by getting this material back into the currency of young readership.
However, it is standard publishing practice to fully credit the creative talent of a book. Therefore, I strongly suggest that John Stanley be credited as ARTIST and WRITER of the comix he created fully, such as MM and Thirteen Going on 18. I hope Drawn + Quarterly will amend the credits for future JSL volumes.
As well, introductory material could be helpful in giving interested adult parents some background on what they're buying for their kids. The kids will just skip past the introduction anyway; there is an interested adult market for these books, and it seems wise, business-wise, to gear them towards as many paying markets as possible.
Let me know your thoughts on this.
UPDATE: Tom Devlin, who commented on this post, has asked that his comments be withdrawn. I found his viewpoints on the editorial vision of the John Stanley Library series of great interest. They are rather invisible in the published volumes, and given the controversy my postings have aroused, I felt that, for once, an explanation was helpful.
I'm going to paraphrase some points Tom made, just to end this dischord--a dischord not intended by me in any way...
The MM books were designed for children--as stated earlier, their goal is to bring John Stanley's comix back into circulation for younger readers. As John Stanley is one of the great American authors of the 20th century, this is a noble goal.
D+Q has tentative plans to produce an Art of John Stanley book someday. I have discussed this project with Tom, and my involvement is likely. I didn't mention it here because (a) it slipped my mind and (b) I don't like to sound off on projects that aren't in the here and now. If this book comes to be, and I am a part of it, I will be happy to work on it. I think such a book is inevitable, despite the lack of solid biographical information available on Stanley.
But Stanley is not the first great author to be written about in the absence of a great deal of biographical knowledge. The themes of his work, and the artistry of his storytelling--and his innovations to the comix format--are a rich topic, and much can be said about them.
The MM books were planned as a three-volume set, each to contain a third of the series' nine-issue run (#10 was a reprint of the first issue). This choice helped keep production costs down, and thus the retail price of the books down.
This is an elaborate book, but it's worth the retail price. As said in my review, amazon.com and other discount internet sites offer excellent deals on the book. Again, I urge you to purchase this volume to support D+Q's ambitious plans to restore John Stanley to print.
OK! Matter closed. Let's move on to new horizons. I look forward to the next volumes in D+Q's Stanley series. I may even review them here. We'll see...
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Melvin Monster Vol. 1: The John Stanley Library-- a review
Drawn + Quarterly's "John Stanley Library" has begun with a handsome volume of Melvin Monster. While the book is not all it could be, it still earns my highest accolades. I felt it appropriate to review it for this blog.
This is the first time an easily-available mass market hardcover of John Stanley's cartooning has been published. (Stanley's prior hardcover appearances include a generous berth in Michael Barrier's Smithsonian Book of Comic-Book Comics and the multi-volume, limited-run "Little Lulu Library" of the 1980s.
Within this book are the inner contents of the first three issues of Melvin Monster. This title was a part of John Stanley's renaissance as a "total" cartoonist in the 1960s.
Freed from the constraints of licensed characters, and of other, usually lesser cartoonists to complete his work, Stanley realized an elegant, distinct style of cartoon art. This style had been present in his work from his start in comic books.
By the 1960s, Stanley's sure hand and economical line were at their peak. Wielding an elegant brush-stroke, Stanley wrote, drew and lettered his work with a seeming effortlessness. As with Harvey Kurtzman and Jesse Marsh's work, Stanley's '60s comix make the artform look easy as pie.
This seeming facility belies the hard work that went into each panel. A casual look at the pages of this book reveals a masterful sense of panel composition, of narrative flow, and of the use of typography as a vital storytelling element.
Melvin Monster was John Stanley's entry in the "kooky monster" trend of the early 1960s. Alongside The Addams Family, The Munsters and a multitude of zany monster-themed trading cards, records and other ephemera, Melvin Monster was very much a product of its time--an unerringly commercial concept.
Stanley takes his time in establishing the world of Melvin Monster in these first three issues.
I don't want to burn a lot of daylight discussing the content of these stories, nor provide a sweeping canned overview of their characteristics. I'll come back to this material shortly.
From its start, Melvin Monster displays the growing darkness of John Stanley's vision. Were I a parent, I would have reservations about handing this volume to my kids without a preliminary sit-down discussion. There is intense stuff between this book's hardcovers.
The world of Melvin Monster reminds me of Lynda Barry's devastating novel, Cruddy. Both depict a universe of loosely organized chaos into which children are swept around like dead leaves.
Isolation, abandonment, entrapment, threats to life and limb (quicksand, alligators, falling objects, random acts of violence) and parental neglect are part and parcel of Melvin Monster's daily life.
Pop culture of the 1950s and '60s was quite dark in its matter-of-fact depiction of the downside of human existence. Melvin Monster is not as disturbing as the most extreme artifacts of this era.
If you want to really see something disturbing, try the Highway Safety Council-produced "educational" classroom film, The Child Molester, from 1964, or the 1960s "gore" horror-movies of Herschell Gordon Lewis, which wed Grand Guignol theatrics to the crudest lack of artistry imaginable.
Admittedly, these two examples are farther removed from the mainstream than Dell's comic books of the era. But they capture the darkest of the dark of the 1960s.
Melvin Monster comes off much lighter, in comparison, but has an inescapable, palpable bleakness.
The saving grace is John Stanley's unerring wit and Lubitsch-like comedic timing. Just when the events seem too foreboding, too grim, a comic zinger swoops down, like some benevolent bird of prey, and brightens the balance.
By this time, Stanley was comics' master of verbal patter. He, above all other contemporary comic book creators, got the rhythm of language--how to write it, how to sell it, and how to enforce its intake.
Stanley's language and verbal rhythms perform a masterful lightfooted dance throughout his 1960s work. It's abundant in Melvin Monster. It impresses me that such a dark concept can also be so frequently hilarious.
A genuine edginess distinguishes this work. Nearly half a century has not dulled this edge. If anything, these stories may be more humorous--and distubing--to 2009 readers than they were to their original audience.
About the book itself: designer Seth has done a lovely job on this book. With its foil embossing and teach-yourself-taxidermy color palette, it is also a very typical piece for the designer.
I do wish Seth would let less of his personal style into his design work. While these books--including Fantagraphics' successful hardcover reprints of Charles Schulz's Peanuts--are attractive, they often have nothing to say about the work inside, but everything to say about Seth's highly recognizable sense of graphic design.
Were John Stanley's name not on the front cover, a casual observer might think, "oh, wow; another Seth book. He sure is prolific!"
I do not criticize Seth's graphic design sense. It is well-established and easily recognizable. I think he has plenty of room to let more of the essence of the work inside shine through.
It's as if he feels a responsibility to vigorously sell the book--almost as if the work, itself, might not be strong enough to attract readership.
Upon opening the book, the reader is treated to one handsome spread after another--mood pieces that set the stage for the stories themselves. In light of my earlier comments about Seth's ubiquitous design sense, I must also state that this is the nicest-looking archival comics volume I've seen to date.
The original comics panels are isolated against a reassuring field of vintage newsprint. The effect is attractive, and makes a strong first impression.
The quality of the scans, from vintage comics, is very good. The blacks are strong and well-balanced, and fidelity to the source materials is strongly maintained.
On the flipside, some of the source materials are visibly flawed. The second issue, for example, appears to be sourced from a water-damaged, badly fluted and wrinkled original. The high-rez scanning makes every flaw in these pages vividly evident.
I found myself often distracted from the reading experience by these found eyesores. These original comics are not that rare: surely better sources can be located!
I regret that Stanley's striking cover designs for these issues are not included. Perhaps they were omitted to skirt the legal waters of Dell's possible claim to ownership of this series. Certainly the cover images themselves could be isolated and presented in these books. For one thing, they often bear John Stanley's signature--that rarest of things in his career.
For another, they are outstanding pieces of schematic design. Stanley's covers sold millions of comics--he designed the monthly Little Lulu covers. To omit this artwork and design from future volumes of the Stanley Library would be a crime.
Lastly, I am shocked at the lack of introductory material here. There is nothing that sets up these stories for the reader. It may be that D + Q want these stories to be read on their own merits, without historical context.
They work on their own, as they did in the mid-'60s. But there are remarkable aspects to this work that deserve to be stated--and which would enhance the reading experience.
I am certain that even a casual first-time reader would find the history of interest. It is a story of perseverance and artistic triumph, in a medium not inclined to reward such actions.
Just think: here is a brilliant comix creator who had over two decades' non-stop experience as a writer, artist, designer and creator--but who never signed his work before 1963, with one fluky exception.
This was the same experience Carl Barks suffered, on the other side of the continent, in his 25-year career as the "duck man" of Dell's California branch.
But Barks never developed and produced an original series idea for comix--or for any medium. He arguably rethought Donald Duck, and other Disney characters, and made them over into living, breathing, beautifully real individuals.
Barks certainly had ambitions to create his own comic strip or book from scratch, but the opportunity never happened for him.
John Stanley created at least seven original series for comic books, going back to the late 1940s.
With his all-original '60s work, Stanley reinvented himself as a newly vibrant creator. He no longer hit the ceiling of limitations imposed by licensed characters. He owned his world, from scratch, and could do as he pleased.
Decades of the daily discipline of comix writing gave his work a professional polish that helped cloak the dark themes he increasingly favored. John Stanley could sugar-coat his bitter pills of human truth just enough to get us, the reader, to swallow them.
My experience of reading his work is that its darkness and brutality often occurs to me later, in reflection. In the moment of the act of reading, his winning comedic sensibilities and brilliant narrative pacing occupy my attention.
I admire him for his ability to do two things at once: entertain and create works of emotional gravity. I think this is exactly what any modern-day alternative cartoonist strives to do with his or her work. Here is a man who managed to slip this highly personal vision between the cracks of mass-market publishing.
In closing, I urge you to purchase this book. Your purchase will encourage and support D + Q's ambitions to make a great deal of John Stanley's best work widely available. These are troubled days for book publishing. We can no longer afford the luxury of being idle spectators. This book can currently be had, for a very affordable sum, from amazon.com.
Or, better yet, buy this from your friendly neighborhood independent book store/comix store. This will encourage said seller to re-order this book, and others like it. Your purchase helps to create and sustain a market for non-crap comix in hardcover.
You will be glad this volume, and future John Stanley Library volumes, are on your bookshelf. They reward repeated readings and speak of a potential only rarely -achieved by mainstream media.
This is the first time an easily-available mass market hardcover of John Stanley's cartooning has been published. (Stanley's prior hardcover appearances include a generous berth in Michael Barrier's Smithsonian Book of Comic-Book Comics and the multi-volume, limited-run "Little Lulu Library" of the 1980s.
Within this book are the inner contents of the first three issues of Melvin Monster. This title was a part of John Stanley's renaissance as a "total" cartoonist in the 1960s.
Freed from the constraints of licensed characters, and of other, usually lesser cartoonists to complete his work, Stanley realized an elegant, distinct style of cartoon art. This style had been present in his work from his start in comic books.
By the 1960s, Stanley's sure hand and economical line were at their peak. Wielding an elegant brush-stroke, Stanley wrote, drew and lettered his work with a seeming effortlessness. As with Harvey Kurtzman and Jesse Marsh's work, Stanley's '60s comix make the artform look easy as pie.
This seeming facility belies the hard work that went into each panel. A casual look at the pages of this book reveals a masterful sense of panel composition, of narrative flow, and of the use of typography as a vital storytelling element.
Melvin Monster was John Stanley's entry in the "kooky monster" trend of the early 1960s. Alongside The Addams Family, The Munsters and a multitude of zany monster-themed trading cards, records and other ephemera, Melvin Monster was very much a product of its time--an unerringly commercial concept.
Stanley takes his time in establishing the world of Melvin Monster in these first three issues.
I don't want to burn a lot of daylight discussing the content of these stories, nor provide a sweeping canned overview of their characteristics. I'll come back to this material shortly.
From its start, Melvin Monster displays the growing darkness of John Stanley's vision. Were I a parent, I would have reservations about handing this volume to my kids without a preliminary sit-down discussion. There is intense stuff between this book's hardcovers.
The world of Melvin Monster reminds me of Lynda Barry's devastating novel, Cruddy. Both depict a universe of loosely organized chaos into which children are swept around like dead leaves.
Isolation, abandonment, entrapment, threats to life and limb (quicksand, alligators, falling objects, random acts of violence) and parental neglect are part and parcel of Melvin Monster's daily life.
Pop culture of the 1950s and '60s was quite dark in its matter-of-fact depiction of the downside of human existence. Melvin Monster is not as disturbing as the most extreme artifacts of this era.
If you want to really see something disturbing, try the Highway Safety Council-produced "educational" classroom film, The Child Molester, from 1964, or the 1960s "gore" horror-movies of Herschell Gordon Lewis, which wed Grand Guignol theatrics to the crudest lack of artistry imaginable.
Admittedly, these two examples are farther removed from the mainstream than Dell's comic books of the era. But they capture the darkest of the dark of the 1960s.
Melvin Monster comes off much lighter, in comparison, but has an inescapable, palpable bleakness.
The saving grace is John Stanley's unerring wit and Lubitsch-like comedic timing. Just when the events seem too foreboding, too grim, a comic zinger swoops down, like some benevolent bird of prey, and brightens the balance.
By this time, Stanley was comics' master of verbal patter. He, above all other contemporary comic book creators, got the rhythm of language--how to write it, how to sell it, and how to enforce its intake.
Stanley's language and verbal rhythms perform a masterful lightfooted dance throughout his 1960s work. It's abundant in Melvin Monster. It impresses me that such a dark concept can also be so frequently hilarious.
A genuine edginess distinguishes this work. Nearly half a century has not dulled this edge. If anything, these stories may be more humorous--and distubing--to 2009 readers than they were to their original audience.
About the book itself: designer Seth has done a lovely job on this book. With its foil embossing and teach-yourself-taxidermy color palette, it is also a very typical piece for the designer.
I do wish Seth would let less of his personal style into his design work. While these books--including Fantagraphics' successful hardcover reprints of Charles Schulz's Peanuts--are attractive, they often have nothing to say about the work inside, but everything to say about Seth's highly recognizable sense of graphic design.
Were John Stanley's name not on the front cover, a casual observer might think, "oh, wow; another Seth book. He sure is prolific!"
I do not criticize Seth's graphic design sense. It is well-established and easily recognizable. I think he has plenty of room to let more of the essence of the work inside shine through.
It's as if he feels a responsibility to vigorously sell the book--almost as if the work, itself, might not be strong enough to attract readership.
Upon opening the book, the reader is treated to one handsome spread after another--mood pieces that set the stage for the stories themselves. In light of my earlier comments about Seth's ubiquitous design sense, I must also state that this is the nicest-looking archival comics volume I've seen to date.
The original comics panels are isolated against a reassuring field of vintage newsprint. The effect is attractive, and makes a strong first impression.
The quality of the scans, from vintage comics, is very good. The blacks are strong and well-balanced, and fidelity to the source materials is strongly maintained.
On the flipside, some of the source materials are visibly flawed. The second issue, for example, appears to be sourced from a water-damaged, badly fluted and wrinkled original. The high-rez scanning makes every flaw in these pages vividly evident.
I found myself often distracted from the reading experience by these found eyesores. These original comics are not that rare: surely better sources can be located!
I regret that Stanley's striking cover designs for these issues are not included. Perhaps they were omitted to skirt the legal waters of Dell's possible claim to ownership of this series. Certainly the cover images themselves could be isolated and presented in these books. For one thing, they often bear John Stanley's signature--that rarest of things in his career.
For another, they are outstanding pieces of schematic design. Stanley's covers sold millions of comics--he designed the monthly Little Lulu covers. To omit this artwork and design from future volumes of the Stanley Library would be a crime.
Lastly, I am shocked at the lack of introductory material here. There is nothing that sets up these stories for the reader. It may be that D + Q want these stories to be read on their own merits, without historical context.
They work on their own, as they did in the mid-'60s. But there are remarkable aspects to this work that deserve to be stated--and which would enhance the reading experience.
I am certain that even a casual first-time reader would find the history of interest. It is a story of perseverance and artistic triumph, in a medium not inclined to reward such actions.
Just think: here is a brilliant comix creator who had over two decades' non-stop experience as a writer, artist, designer and creator--but who never signed his work before 1963, with one fluky exception.
This was the same experience Carl Barks suffered, on the other side of the continent, in his 25-year career as the "duck man" of Dell's California branch.
But Barks never developed and produced an original series idea for comix--or for any medium. He arguably rethought Donald Duck, and other Disney characters, and made them over into living, breathing, beautifully real individuals.
Barks certainly had ambitions to create his own comic strip or book from scratch, but the opportunity never happened for him.
John Stanley created at least seven original series for comic books, going back to the late 1940s.
With his all-original '60s work, Stanley reinvented himself as a newly vibrant creator. He no longer hit the ceiling of limitations imposed by licensed characters. He owned his world, from scratch, and could do as he pleased.
Decades of the daily discipline of comix writing gave his work a professional polish that helped cloak the dark themes he increasingly favored. John Stanley could sugar-coat his bitter pills of human truth just enough to get us, the reader, to swallow them.
My experience of reading his work is that its darkness and brutality often occurs to me later, in reflection. In the moment of the act of reading, his winning comedic sensibilities and brilliant narrative pacing occupy my attention.
I admire him for his ability to do two things at once: entertain and create works of emotional gravity. I think this is exactly what any modern-day alternative cartoonist strives to do with his or her work. Here is a man who managed to slip this highly personal vision between the cracks of mass-market publishing.
In closing, I urge you to purchase this book. Your purchase will encourage and support D + Q's ambitions to make a great deal of John Stanley's best work widely available. These are troubled days for book publishing. We can no longer afford the luxury of being idle spectators. This book can currently be had, for a very affordable sum, from amazon.com.
Or, better yet, buy this from your friendly neighborhood independent book store/comix store. This will encourage said seller to re-order this book, and others like it. Your purchase helps to create and sustain a market for non-crap comix in hardcover.
You will be glad this volume, and future John Stanley Library volumes, are on your bookshelf. They reward repeated readings and speak of a potential only rarely -achieved by mainstream media.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
great new blog on comix master JACK COLE!
Click H E R E to visit COLE'S COMICS, a fine new blog on the cartoon artistry of writer-artist Jack Cole--a person who, like John Stanley, merits the label of "superb comics creator." (I dislike the term 'genius,' and shun its use when possible. Now's the time to go back and tally up how many times I've used the word in this blog!)
Paul is a longtime friend. Many is the hour we've spent discussing comics, and Jack Cole has been a frequent topic of our talks. I'm excited that Paul has begun this blog.
If you think Jack Cole is just about "Plastic Man," you've got another think coming. Be sure to visit COLE'S COMICS regularly for great stories and compelling critical commentary!
Friday, May 29, 2009
Summer camp antics conclude: pt IV of the '57 Lulu/Tubby special
Just in time for the hottest day this year in Seattle-- here's the grand finale of this beloved 1957 Lulu-Tubby summer camp special.
"The Lost Mumday" walks the fine line between canned sitcom and perverse comedy-of-embarrassment. Mumday is a pervasive second-string theme of the Lulu-verse. The boys' solemn determination not to speak to girls on a selected day is forever destined to failure.
When Stanley has Tubby and Iggy indulge in some mild cross-dressing, and places them in the eye of the hurricane (the girls' camp), the story picks up appreciably. Iggy's failure to maintain the feminine ruse gives a potentially stale story a nice little lift.
"Voo-Dood It?" follows an innocent arts-and-crafts project to its unexpectedly nightmarish end. Tubby's infidelity to Lulu (by a blonde Gloria-esque hussy) causes the rotund one a great deal of superstitious anxiety. All's well in the end. Bonus points for the droll non-sequitir of "Do you like peanut butter?"
"Night Noises:" here's a beautiful story, with a noble blend of melancholy and machine-gun verbal laffs. I love the girl camper's comment that the sound of the katydids brings with it sadness--it signals the end of summer.
Three pages is all this poem-like story requires. This is my favorite story in the book.
In conclusion, "Summer Souvenirs" masterfully melds melancholy and mirth. Lulu's OCD-fueled rant, in the fifth panel of the first page, is one of the funniest moments in all of John Stanley's work.
Once again, this story is riven with melancholy. The kids have pangs of loss--the closure of barely-begun friendships, the return to the dullness of school and home life.
The story arc of souvenirs being traded is handled with real grace. Tubby delivers the final kicker, in a moment that brings his self-absorption and egotism to the fore. It takes the edge off the sadness that permeates these last two stories.
Tubby restores his old world, in full, in the book's inside-back-cover gag page. At the end, we are all reassured by the Dell Pledge to Parents. Remember--this has been a wholesome reading experience!
"The Lost Mumday" walks the fine line between canned sitcom and perverse comedy-of-embarrassment. Mumday is a pervasive second-string theme of the Lulu-verse. The boys' solemn determination not to speak to girls on a selected day is forever destined to failure.
When Stanley has Tubby and Iggy indulge in some mild cross-dressing, and places them in the eye of the hurricane (the girls' camp), the story picks up appreciably. Iggy's failure to maintain the feminine ruse gives a potentially stale story a nice little lift.
"Voo-Dood It?" follows an innocent arts-and-crafts project to its unexpectedly nightmarish end. Tubby's infidelity to Lulu (by a blonde Gloria-esque hussy) causes the rotund one a great deal of superstitious anxiety. All's well in the end. Bonus points for the droll non-sequitir of "Do you like peanut butter?"
"Night Noises:" here's a beautiful story, with a noble blend of melancholy and machine-gun verbal laffs. I love the girl camper's comment that the sound of the katydids brings with it sadness--it signals the end of summer.
Three pages is all this poem-like story requires. This is my favorite story in the book.
In conclusion, "Summer Souvenirs" masterfully melds melancholy and mirth. Lulu's OCD-fueled rant, in the fifth panel of the first page, is one of the funniest moments in all of John Stanley's work.
Once again, this story is riven with melancholy. The kids have pangs of loss--the closure of barely-begun friendships, the return to the dullness of school and home life.
The story arc of souvenirs being traded is handled with real grace. Tubby delivers the final kicker, in a moment that brings his self-absorption and egotism to the fore. It takes the edge off the sadness that permeates these last two stories.
Tubby restores his old world, in full, in the book's inside-back-cover gag page. At the end, we are all reassured by the Dell Pledge to Parents. Remember--this has been a wholesome reading experience!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
that Little Lulu 'n' Tubby summer camp thing III
As promised, here's part three of our '57 Summer Camp Funfest.
I've decided against including all the activity pages. They eat up too much space. Altho' said pages may have nostalgic oomph for those who read this giant as a kid, they're low on actual do-I-really-need-to-see-this value.
Here are the next four stories in this epic shebang.
These stories have a less hard edge than contemporary pieces in the monthly Little Lulu magazine. This is not a complaint; it's an appreciation.
100 pages of high-octane sitcom might wear out its welcome, even on the staunchest reader. Thus, it makes sense to turn the intensity down a notch or three. Focus is more on characterization than boffo gags.
Stanley makes the assumption that the reader is hep to the relationships, social status, and personalities of his cast of characters. The subtleties of these stories are much better appreciated by those who know the lay of Lulu-Land.
"Package From Home" is part of a group of stories in which objects and individuals from the real world intrude upon the sexually segregated Eden of Camp Shakatot. You'll recognize the terrifying instrument that turns up in Tubby's from-home box.
Someone in my crowded urban neighborhood just got a puppy. The poor canine suffers from seperation anxiety. Night and day, he/she makes noises much like the ones I imagine emanating from Tubby's violin.
This story uses a Stanley device I haven't discussed here before. Throughout his career, and particularly later on, Stanley is fond of having his characters utter either "We're doomed... doomed... DOOMED!" or "you are doomed... doomed... DOOMED!"
Usually meant for comical effect--an over-reaction to a difficult but repairable crisis-- doomed...doomed... DOOMED! gains a more sinister edge from the late '50s on.
It deserves to be added to my list of Stanleyisms. Someday soon I'll do a revised post of Stanleyisms here, and include excerpts from various Stanley stories as illustrations.
"How To Handle Girls" plays upon the arrogance of Tubby and his clubhouse pals. More outside intrusion, in the form of sociopathic Wilbur Van Snobbe, befouls the lads' assumptions that they have the upper hand on Lulu, Annie, Gloria, et al.
Status shifts and social frustration are the themes of this story. Laffs galore via table-turning humiliation. The Wilburs of the world are always there to upstage the rest of us.
"Little Itch's Singing Lesson" provides the required fractured fairy-tale. Lulu's purgatorial duty is to tell these improvised stories to bratty Alvin, in a (usually wasted) attempt to calm him down. Alvin would be on some major anti-depressants today.
Stanley indulges in more verbal-visual comedy here. It's a shaggy-dog story.
"Surprise Visit" is the gem of this batch. Lulu's father is brutalized while trying to engage with his daughter in the increasingly dangerous--and socially humiliating--world of Camp Shakatot. While laughing at Mr. Moppet's misfortunes, the adult reader can easily sympathize with the surprisingly realistic mishaps that occur. The business with the oars is particularly spot-on.
"Stormy Night" provides an apt coda for this third helping.
In our next post, we'll wrap up this 100-page fracas. See you then!
I've decided against including all the activity pages. They eat up too much space. Altho' said pages may have nostalgic oomph for those who read this giant as a kid, they're low on actual do-I-really-need-to-see-this value.
Here are the next four stories in this epic shebang.
These stories have a less hard edge than contemporary pieces in the monthly Little Lulu magazine. This is not a complaint; it's an appreciation.
100 pages of high-octane sitcom might wear out its welcome, even on the staunchest reader. Thus, it makes sense to turn the intensity down a notch or three. Focus is more on characterization than boffo gags.
Stanley makes the assumption that the reader is hep to the relationships, social status, and personalities of his cast of characters. The subtleties of these stories are much better appreciated by those who know the lay of Lulu-Land.
"Package From Home" is part of a group of stories in which objects and individuals from the real world intrude upon the sexually segregated Eden of Camp Shakatot. You'll recognize the terrifying instrument that turns up in Tubby's from-home box.
Someone in my crowded urban neighborhood just got a puppy. The poor canine suffers from seperation anxiety. Night and day, he/she makes noises much like the ones I imagine emanating from Tubby's violin.
This story uses a Stanley device I haven't discussed here before. Throughout his career, and particularly later on, Stanley is fond of having his characters utter either "We're doomed... doomed... DOOMED!" or "you are doomed... doomed... DOOMED!"
Usually meant for comical effect--an over-reaction to a difficult but repairable crisis-- doomed...doomed... DOOMED! gains a more sinister edge from the late '50s on.
It deserves to be added to my list of Stanleyisms. Someday soon I'll do a revised post of Stanleyisms here, and include excerpts from various Stanley stories as illustrations.
"How To Handle Girls" plays upon the arrogance of Tubby and his clubhouse pals. More outside intrusion, in the form of sociopathic Wilbur Van Snobbe, befouls the lads' assumptions that they have the upper hand on Lulu, Annie, Gloria, et al.
Status shifts and social frustration are the themes of this story. Laffs galore via table-turning humiliation. The Wilburs of the world are always there to upstage the rest of us.
"Little Itch's Singing Lesson" provides the required fractured fairy-tale. Lulu's purgatorial duty is to tell these improvised stories to bratty Alvin, in a (usually wasted) attempt to calm him down. Alvin would be on some major anti-depressants today.
Stanley indulges in more verbal-visual comedy here. It's a shaggy-dog story.
"Surprise Visit" is the gem of this batch. Lulu's father is brutalized while trying to engage with his daughter in the increasingly dangerous--and socially humiliating--world of Camp Shakatot. While laughing at Mr. Moppet's misfortunes, the adult reader can easily sympathize with the surprisingly realistic mishaps that occur. The business with the oars is particularly spot-on.
"Stormy Night" provides an apt coda for this third helping.
In our next post, we'll wrap up this 100-page fracas. See you then!
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