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Audrey Niffenegger: The Three Incestuous Sisters
If a writer's first book comes out and you really like it, and then the subsequent books are less good, you begin to distrust your good opinion of the debut novel. Its goodness begins to seem almost accidental. A book is not an object in and of itself, but an interconnected synergy of authorial intent and reader effort--a different experience for every reader. If the author's successive books are poor, you wonder how much of the stuff you loved in the earlier book was all stuff you'd brought to the table. You start to feel like you invited Audrey Niffenegger to a pot luck, and you were impressed by the HUGE TUPPERWARE she brought, only later to discover that inside that tupperware there were like three rice crispy treats. The store-bought kind in the blue metallic wrappers. And you eat those because you're hungry and they exist and only taste a /little/ of despair, but no one's ever been like 'oh, fuck homemade rice crispy treats, I long for those sweet bastardized Rice Krispies!!"*
So anyway, I read Audrey Niffengger's "The Three Incestuous Sisters."
To begin with, if you were hoping for some Steamy Incestuous Lesbian Action!!! this is not the book for you. In fact I am not 100% on what definition of 'Incestuous' Niffenegger is working off of, but whatevs, if I wanted female family bonding with creepy incestual overtones I'd just call up Danny and ask if we could bi-continentally watch the Gilmore Girls.**
It is, instead, a large, well-bound 'visual novel' (Niffenegger's term). Someone on goodreads here, who's a big fan of the artwork, says "A book like this demands excellent illustration, and Niffenegger has provided that in spades. (The description she gives of how the illustrations were made is truly daunting.) These are pictures that draw the attention like few others in recent graphic novels; they ignore current trends in graphic novel design, instead going for a modern-primitive approach. It's amateurism, but it's inspired amateurism (think Louis Wain here, perhaps), with spare, almost unformed human figures that play out the story against backgrounds that are richly-detailed and show great artistry. There is much to be said here about the juxtaposition; I am, however, not the person to say it."
Niffenegger's description of the detailed aqua-tinting process, this person's favorable, insightful comments on the art style, and Katy the Estimable Girlfriend's own affection for the rough illustrations all sway me positively. In the end, though, for all it's lightly eerie and intriguing, I cannot love the art which is so vital a component of this book.
The sparse prose style evokes artistic vagueness. I hate that as a trend in fiction--pretty detachment that never quite exposes or commits the author to anything definite and damning. Artistic vagueness seems unimpeachable and feels soulless and a bit craven. I like my prose and my art to be fully explored, dense, rich, not--not sketched, because what is a sketch but potential you were too afraid to ruin and so never explored the promise of?
I could have loved this novel, or been enchanted by this rich picture book, but the in-between visual novel product is a bit hamstrung.
John Scalzi, though, once gave a talk at Prairie Lights in Iowa City about "The Sagan Diary," which forms a part of his "Old Man" novels' universe. As he described it, "The Sagan Diary" is a prose poetry character exploration of a woman who was a protagonist (but not a POV character) in the series proper. He said it was important to him to publish this. While he recognized that its audience was limited, he felt there was an audience for it. Commercial success on another front gave him a platform, and fostered the publisher-trust necessary for this unusual book to see publication. It's good to see successful writers using that success to publish unusual, innovative, personal books with limited commercial appeal. What is artistic success for it not to enable you to push further? No one puts a safety net under you so you can sit in an arm chair: it's there so you can learn a trapeze act.
Ultimately if I don't like the book, I love the idea of the book. And it's not without some real charm: 'the naming of things' is a great pannel. 'Ophie, horrified' and 'Clothilde, horrified' have really gorgeous composition. I was intrigued by Clothilde and her nephew's psychic connection. But there's something a bit obvious about Bettine The Pretty One getting the guy and Ophie The Smart One never having any opportunity to be anything but stupid about a boy and jealous of her pretty sister, throwing their long and apparently 'incestuously' close relationship over for some unrequited angsting the minute the new Lighthouse Keeper shows.
* Whenever I read Richard Lawson's hilarious Gawker recaps of hideously bad shows I read the recaps to but do not actually watch (TRES SAD), I end up sounding like him for a day. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God David Tennant's Doctor has ruined me for any actual earnest contrition ever.
** I will never do this. Sorry Danny. Put down the popcorn and remove that look on tentative hope from your face. It's never that day. It's never Cookie Time.***
***But when you get internet if we could arrange for more HIGHLANDER THE SERIES!!1! you know, I just might be willing. Maybe. Maybe.
So anyway, I read Audrey Niffengger's "The Three Incestuous Sisters."
To begin with, if you were hoping for some Steamy Incestuous Lesbian Action!!! this is not the book for you. In fact I am not 100% on what definition of 'Incestuous' Niffenegger is working off of, but whatevs, if I wanted female family bonding with creepy incestual overtones I'd just call up Danny and ask if we could bi-continentally watch the Gilmore Girls.**
It is, instead, a large, well-bound 'visual novel' (Niffenegger's term). Someone on goodreads here, who's a big fan of the artwork, says "A book like this demands excellent illustration, and Niffenegger has provided that in spades. (The description she gives of how the illustrations were made is truly daunting.) These are pictures that draw the attention like few others in recent graphic novels; they ignore current trends in graphic novel design, instead going for a modern-primitive approach. It's amateurism, but it's inspired amateurism (think Louis Wain here, perhaps), with spare, almost unformed human figures that play out the story against backgrounds that are richly-detailed and show great artistry. There is much to be said here about the juxtaposition; I am, however, not the person to say it."
Niffenegger's description of the detailed aqua-tinting process, this person's favorable, insightful comments on the art style, and Katy the Estimable Girlfriend's own affection for the rough illustrations all sway me positively. In the end, though, for all it's lightly eerie and intriguing, I cannot love the art which is so vital a component of this book.
The sparse prose style evokes artistic vagueness. I hate that as a trend in fiction--pretty detachment that never quite exposes or commits the author to anything definite and damning. Artistic vagueness seems unimpeachable and feels soulless and a bit craven. I like my prose and my art to be fully explored, dense, rich, not--not sketched, because what is a sketch but potential you were too afraid to ruin and so never explored the promise of?
I could have loved this novel, or been enchanted by this rich picture book, but the in-between visual novel product is a bit hamstrung.
John Scalzi, though, once gave a talk at Prairie Lights in Iowa City about "The Sagan Diary," which forms a part of his "Old Man" novels' universe. As he described it, "The Sagan Diary" is a prose poetry character exploration of a woman who was a protagonist (but not a POV character) in the series proper. He said it was important to him to publish this. While he recognized that its audience was limited, he felt there was an audience for it. Commercial success on another front gave him a platform, and fostered the publisher-trust necessary for this unusual book to see publication. It's good to see successful writers using that success to publish unusual, innovative, personal books with limited commercial appeal. What is artistic success for it not to enable you to push further? No one puts a safety net under you so you can sit in an arm chair: it's there so you can learn a trapeze act.
Ultimately if I don't like the book, I love the idea of the book. And it's not without some real charm: 'the naming of things' is a great pannel. 'Ophie, horrified' and 'Clothilde, horrified' have really gorgeous composition. I was intrigued by Clothilde and her nephew's psychic connection. But there's something a bit obvious about Bettine The Pretty One getting the guy and Ophie The Smart One never having any opportunity to be anything but stupid about a boy and jealous of her pretty sister, throwing their long and apparently 'incestuously' close relationship over for some unrequited angsting the minute the new Lighthouse Keeper shows.
* Whenever I read Richard Lawson's hilarious Gawker recaps of hideously bad shows I read the recaps to but do not actually watch (TRES SAD), I end up sounding like him for a day. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God David Tennant's Doctor has ruined me for any actual earnest contrition ever.
** I will never do this. Sorry Danny. Put down the popcorn and remove that look on tentative hope from your face. It's never that day. It's never Cookie Time.***
***But when you get internet if we could arrange for more HIGHLANDER THE SERIES!!1! you know, I just might be willing. Maybe. Maybe.