Mod Wheels #9

To say that I've been tardy in my postings is a massive understatement; life tends to get in the way of the hobbyist. Without further ado, we skip ahead a few issues (a necessity of availability) to this jam-packed edition of Wheels and his gang. Frankly, I don't know what to say except this issue is pedestrian and lacking. The main story involoves Cube (the teen-age genius mechanic) adding radar to Wheels' hot-rod. His nemesis shows up (Van Packard) causing accidents and mayhem to ensue. The female character of the group is left commenting on her hair and how stupid men in general are. If you like this series, I'd recommend you pass on this issue. Till next time.

Mod Wheels #6 (Gold Key, 06/72)

This supposedly suspenseful issue concerns, as usual, two different stories: a troubled father and son, and the women's liberation movement. The first story is the typical soapy tear-jerker about a boy who feels neglected by his auto-obsessed father. The results are predictable, but I found Wheels' advice to be particularly bizarre. At one point he recommends to the lad that he bury his troubles by merely mimicking his father's actions; bury those problems deep, eh? Great advice.
The second story has Wheels' crew initially mocking the women's lib activities of their only female member. After some storyline padding, this acrimony resolves itself in a car race where the boys find out that the real winner of the race is tolerance. *yawns* I suppose the good people at Gold Key deserve some credit for including such a controversial plot line in 1972, but the conclusion just seems too shallow and forced for my liking. With that said, however, this is just a comic book, not a literary classic. Rock on Wheels!

Mod Wheels #2 (Gold Key, 05/71)

In an attempt to reestablish this rather moribund blog, I have decided to switch its focus to one of my burgeoning interests: camp comic books. As a child, other than the Legion of the Superheroes (DC), I was never really interested in comic books, because I really didn't like superheroes that much. During my time studying so-called juvenile literature, I was delighted to discover that comics, or graphic novels, are just as diverse as literature itself. After much perusal, I've found I like ones that are of the mystery/horror/suspense genre, or, as one can see, ones deemed to be camp. With that said, my next entries (hopefully, there will be some) will be devoted to this particular comic book serial, or more appropriately, what, thus far, has been digitized.
This particular issue has two brief stories: one involving Wheels' (gasp! what a surprising name) motor race escapade, and another involving auto thieves. Even for a 1971 Gold Key, the story is banal and awash with stereotypes; the opening panel has Wheels' girlfriend almost spread-eagle on his car hood. In the Auto thieves story, Wheels meets a female auto mechanic (a bit of a surprise for a comic from 1971), but, alas, she is predictably as un-feminine and un- woman like as possible. As for the drawing, it is fairly flat and two-dimensional, with ordinary panel layouts: little, if any, shading is present.
It is also rather amusing to see how the "mod" generation is being presented. Clearly "mods" were not creating this comic, so, in essence, one can see how adults viewed this generation. Essentially, they are depicted as adrenalin-loving hedonists, who care little for authority, rules or popular culture. Adults, if any are present, usually are shown in this issue as being supplementary, like "Joe", the aforementioned female mechanic. Adults are also only deemed "cool" if they assist the characters; clearly, diminishing the character of younger generations is not just a contemporary tradition.
The final, laughable aspect of this comic is "Cube," a bespectacled lad who ends up joining this crew of zany misfits at the end of the comic. When one has glasses, one is smart (or s-m-r-t for Simpson's' fans). This annoying staple of pop culture has been seemingly around for eons and its inclusion in this serial really is a testament to its' predictability. All in all, an enjoyable comic ;)

After the end

Well, it has been a month or so since I completed my degree at FIS and have left Toronto (for now anyway). Applying for jobs has become my new focus and I've come to realize again just how intense the process is. Unfortunately, for this blog, it has meant months of neglect; hopefully this will all change for the better quite soon. For all the upcoming FIS graduates, I wish you well for the future.

Wyndham Up My Back: The Chrysalids

For my last booktalk of the term, I would like to discuss one of the primary readings from this week: John Wyndham’s The Chrysalids (1955). Reading this book once more not only reminded me of my high school years, but just how sophisticated and thought-provoking teenage oriented science fiction can be. The set-up is typically unusual: the world has victimized by an apocalyptic war and years later, a brand of survivors living in Labrador seek to purge themselves of “mutants” who take the form of an emerging group of telepaths.

The protagonist of the story is David Storm, a young man who is just beginning to understand his telepathic abilities. As he begins to comprehend what his abilities mean, he also finds himself (and his psychic peers) on the receiving end of systemic prejudice. At the same time, Wyndham has his main character fall in love with his cousin, Sophie; this romantic subplot is a sidebar that modern audiences often focus on account of its supposed controversial nature.

Beyond this alleged controversy is a sound, entertaining novel. The two major story developments I had forgotten about over the years concerned David’s sister, and the rather bizarre ending. It is David’s sister, Petra, that ends up developing the most powerful psychic abilities; so much so, in fact, that it is she who is able to communicate with others of her kind across the world in Sealand (presumably New Zealand)! The bizarre ending I was referring to, involves members of this psychic stronghold coming from Sealand to save David, Sophie and the rest of the psychic youngsters from the violent and prejudicial elders of his village.

This final plot development leads me to my final point of this booktalk of this semester. One of the most strident aspects of Wyndham’s piece of fiction is his depiction of adults. Other than David’s uncle, Axel, most of the adults depicted in this novel are either ineffectual or downright malicious. Why Wyndham chose to go this route is, in all likelihood, an essay in itself, but one plausible reason for this development is to appeal to a youth audience, where themes of rebellion would reverberate.

What is likely more important than determining the causality behind this plot development is how it would, in fact, be interpreted by a young reader. Since I was sixteen when I first read it, I can safely say it must have had some sort of an impact on me because I, for the most part, remembered what happened in this novel. In the end, Wyndham, I think, has accomplished his main goal: entice young people to read a well-crafted novel and to encourage them to read further. Thank you all for reading my booktalks over the past term, I certainly have learned a lot from them.

Sheldrick-Ross: Serial Reader

Throughout this term, I have, in all honesty, been fairly critical of the scholarship surrounding children’s literature. This week, however, I am rather pleased to say that Ross’ article entitled: “If They Read Nancy Drew, So What?: Series Book Readers Talk Back,” is not only well-constructed, but quite a convincing piece of scholarship as well.

In case you haven’t read it, the article discusses the serious issue of trying to get young reluctant or non-readers to start reading and utilizing what the public or school library has to offer. This incredibly brief summary does not do the article justice, because it was in fact a product of lengthy amount of research in which over one hundred people were interviewed (p. 201). Another salient conclusion Ross makes concerns the “reading ladder.”

No doubt, we all remember the diagramme of the ladder; the upper rungs, of course, were supposed to represent some sort of lexical Valhalla. By reaching the top, the reader had now evidently reached some sort of transcendent state and was now, at last, a reader of great importance. I always thought that paradigm was rather cruel, because, for me, it somehow implied that being on the lower rungs meant one was, by definition, deficient or underdeveloped.

Another aspect of Ross’ article that made me truly think about juvenile literature was the manner on which fiction is presented in the library. Ross discusses at length how libraries have historically derided fiction and how the same institution has experienced the consequences from that judgment. But it seems to me the library, namely, public libraries, are, in fact, still passing judgment on children’s fiction each and every day.

Take, for example, how serials are presented to its younger patrons as they enter the library. Most popular serials are stuck somewhere in a “spinner” which are sometimes, but not always, sorted by genre and alphabetized (again, not always) by author. This seems like a simple system, but a visit to your local library will often reveal that these books are often out of place, misfiled, or simply missing.

In addition, even if a patron wanted to find their wanted serial title in the catalogue, most of the times, they cannot. I have yet to be in a public library where fiction titles, children’s or not, can be properly searched and accessed. Oftentimes, when the young patron checks out his/her book, all that comes up is a non-descript entry stating that a piece of “fiction” has been discharged. It seems that some vestiges of the “fiction is pernicious movement” are still at large.

Ross, C. S. (1995). “If they read Nancy Drew, so what?”: Series books readers talk back. LISR. 17, 201-236.

We all Wynne: preoccupied with nationalism?

I can’t think of a more provocative statement in the readings from this term than this one: “…Brian Doyle took me to task for the lack of Canadian content in my novel Stephen Fair” (p. 299). Granted, Wynne is talking about an adult novel that he has just written, but, frankly, how many times do we have to go down this road? What road is that, pray? The subject of this week’s booktalk is, perhaps sadly, Canadian nationalism in the form of literary content.

For the most part, Wynne’s article is about the Canadian sense of humour. In this regard, he does an excellent job recounting our strange comedic preferences, and how they have developed over time. He then suddenly includes the above quote and I cannot help but be a little peeved. Many things have bothered me about “CanCon,” but one of its irritating characteristics concerns people who support it above all else. Specifically, it seems that if you are a writer or a musician living in Canada who does not wish to include a token amount of Canadian content into your artifice, you are branded as being anti-patriotic.

I think the people who were responsible for creating Canadian content meant well. I mean, who can truly disagree with the notion that an appreciable danger exists from American cultural encroachment. On the other hand, do we necessarily have to surround our artists with an ideological straightjacket? I, obviously, believe in the notion of write what you want to write, paint what you want to paint, regardless of cultural preconceptions.

The second, and final, thing that always bothered me about “CanCon” concerns a certain medical aide: namely, a crutch. I have always viewed this law as being an informal admittance by the federal government that our artists cannot possibly survive on their own. Through this built in cultural inferiority complex, we have attempted to create a quasi-fortress around our cognoscenti to shield them from the American invaders. I, for one, think our artists can readily compete with the best of them. This also goes for our radio, television, and music; for that matter, any of our cultural exports can, I believe, withstand and compete in the international intellectual and entertainment marketplaces.

No, I’m not about to sing O Canada, but Wynne’s brief comment has, evidently, riled me and made me speak out against this bombast. It is the artists who should decide what they want to write about, not politicians and nationalists who are seemingly convinced that artisans are too feeble to make up their own minds.

Wynne-Jones, T. (2003). O Canhahada. Horn Book. 79(3), 295-305.