I was unaware that the creation of the graphic novel was the exclusive domain of sad people. In my brief and sporadic foray into its honorable legacy, I've gazed upon numerous beautifully rendered panels, appreciated hand lettered fonts, and traversed each facet of the proffered emotional landscapes.
It hasn't exactly been a joyride.
There's been irony, yes, and loneliness, alienation, apathy, bitterness, sarcasm, pain, and profound sadness. But happiness? Goodness no. God forbid we explore the sunny side. It seems both writers and inkers alike are on strict orders to encapsulate any inkling of a positive outlook that might sneak into a panel with clouds upon clouds of irony and foreboding.
Here-I'll do a little name dropping. You won't miss the thread of nihilism and tears:
-Blankets- Craig Thompson. Sad boy (victim of childhood sexual abuse) loves sad girl (forced to care for her mentally challenged brother in the wake of her parents vicious divorce). Do they end up together? No. No they don't.
-Jimmy Corrigan- Chris Ware. Smartest kid in the world. SADDEST KID IN THE WORLD.
-Black Hole- Charles Burns. Main conflict motivator: teen alienation as fostered by a STDs that causes horrific mutations.
And that's just my short list. Ah, youth.
But why? Why must it be so? Did everyone in the 90's really hate life that much? I can just imagine all the authors together in some frozen Nebraskan basement, listening to The Smiths until they cried and their tears mixed with the dirt underneath their fingernails to make the ink which... Okay, too far.
Perhaps the graphic novel as medium just isn't designed to convey joyful feelings. Maybe a glimmer of hope would piss off the target market.
I wouldn't know. It's hot as hell where I live.
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