Guttersniper

“Daniel Clowes’ “Ghost World” is a sarcastic, witty novel, with a serious dark undertone.  Following Enid, an 18-year old girl searching for her identity, the novel meanders about, presenting odd scenarios and characters, each adding a specific facet to the reader’s experience.

What I found impressive about Clowes’ work was his treatment of Enid’s character.  The reader truly witnesses Enid grow and change throughout the novel; constantly altering her appearance, Clowes makes it quite clear just how desperately she is searching for a grasp on who she really is.

Thus, we have yet another novel dealing with many issues easily found during teenage years – sexual exploration, identity, future plans, and changing friendships.  Rebecca, Enid’s seemingly more “normal” counterpart, undergoes a great deal of torment at the thought of her best friend leaving for Strathmore.  The relationship the two share is an interesting one in that they are more than friends, more like “life partners” (save no sex, despite talk of “becoming lesbian”).  As Enid prepares to leave, studying for her test, the obvious tension of their supposed upcoming separation manifests itself in arguments typically found in a serious romantic relationship.  For instance, on page 57, the two fight over the fact that Enid hasn’t told Rebecca about her studying, which then leads to a much bigger argument.  This seemingly simple admission is truly the breaking point for their friendship; from this point forward, the two rapidly move apart, fueled by faux anger and true heartbreak.  Rebecca feels as though she is being left behind, and although she literally is, the fact is she is truly scared of what is to become of her without the friend she has come to rely upon.

In fact, this story is simply a transitional period in both of these young lives; in this short time span, the two go in completely different directions, representing how quickly life can change.  Clowes, in a short 85 pages, takes these two women on an emotional rollercoaster as they seem to become entirely different people by the end of the novel.  Ultimately both Rebecca and Enid are searching for their place, or at least a point where they feel comfortable with who they are.

What’s difficult about this novel is how realistic each element is.  Not unlike “Night Fisher”, Clowes’ work forces the reader to cope with situations that are easy to imagine, for on some level, we have all experienced them in one manner or another.  The rejection that Rebecca feels is understandable, and the fear that Enid experiences (and the subsequent anger and slightly pompous attitude) is equally imaginable.  Thus, Clowes creates a novel that deals with real issues in real ways.  I found this to be refreshing, as this story was simply a story; no monsters, no diseases, no superheroes, just realistic situations presented through this dynamic teenage relationship.

We have read such a wide variety of novels, each which portrayed situations, ideals, problems, etc in different manners.  What has become apparent to me is that even novels like “Watchmen”, a seemingly completely different comic than “Ghost World”, all share such similar elements.  These comics allow their readers to experience real situations in such a different, and in many respects, a more connective manner than a typical novel.  This is a fact that I didn’t realize until now, but ultimately, it has made me realize just how powerful a comic can be.

            With a title like Ghost World, I fully expected some strange, supernatural twist from Daniel Clowes’s comic.  And yet his story was completely based within the real-world, day-to-day lives of young women dealing with real-world, day-to-day issues: boys, sex, gossip, friendship, jealousy, growing up, betrayal, change. 

            My initial reaction to the main character’s Enid and Rebecca – especially their language and dialogue – was that their persons and syntax were unrealistic.  “I never talked like that,” I though, “and I don’t talk that way now either.”  However, upon looking at Clowes’s dialogue a second time, and paying closer attention to the ways that I spoke with my friends at lunch, at parties, or when hanging out (and also eavesdropping on some other Valentine conversations) I realized that Enid and Rebecca’s way of talking to each other was actually alarmingly similar to discussion in daily life (although Enid is more liberal with her profanity than most of the people I spend time with).

            I began to wonder what it was about this comic that initially made it seem so unreal to me, despite the truth of its writing.  From the you-know-I’m-your-friend-so-I-can-say-mean-things-to-you-and-get-away-with-it quality of Enid and Rebecca’s exchanges (Rebecca: “You’re a stuck-up prep-school bitch!” Enid: “Fuck you!” p.9) to the off-handed, non-politically correct comments shared between friends (Enid: “God, don’t you just love it when you see two really ugly people in love like that?” p.25), Clowes’s characters are undeniably realistic.  What makes it difficult to initially see this realism is the fact that it is so blatantly displayed in this dialogue-heavy comic.  Real-life conversations sound utterly fake when they are written down; the unavoidability of these conversations in Ghost World makes them feel like they should be constructed dialogue, and yet they are not.

            Another aspect of Clowes’s work that adds to this realism is that way that characters are drawn.  Their clothing changes day-to-day, their hair grows (or gets cut and dyed green), they get new glasses.  Even small details add to the realism, like Enid’s safety pin earring that she wears when she “goes punk.”

            One small element that I found very interesting was Clowes’s inclusion of himself in the comic.  This first happens on page 26 when Enid cites Clowes as the “one guy who lives up to [her] standards,” becoming very oddly meta as his character in his comic says of his work that “these aren’t like normal cartoons …”  Enid quickly changes the subject, taking it away almost as quickly as it is come up (again, not an uncommon part of normal conversation).  I at first thought the comic was going to become a strange contemplation of Clowes’s work, but he was only mentioned once more.  Yet his part in the story lingers in an odd way such that the comic becomes removed form itself; the characters exist independent of their creator.  Or are they figments of his imagination without knowing it?  Do they exist in a “Ghost World” within his imagination?  It is interesting to contrast Clowes’s presence in Ghost World to the small comic on the back of Chris Ware’s Jimmy Corrigan; while Ware is undeniably self-deprecating and emphasizes that no one wants to read his book, Clowes calls himself “famous.”

            I have not seen the film version of Ghost World, and I’m not sure that I want to.  I think one of the greatest strengths of the comic is its ability to mirror real speech with off-putting accuracy, forcing the reader to contemplate it through the process of reading.  Hearing the speech spoken would take away from the jarring “wow, that really is how many young adults talk” quality of the story.

What I find immediately absorbing about “Ghost World” is Clowes’ pitch-perfect depiction of the rhythms of life for two bored teenagers stuck in a dead-end town.   The gleeful, witty nastiness of their conversations, the way they drift spontaneously from one pointless activity to another, the lack of any real structure in their lives, all work together to capture the precise place they inhabit at this point in their lives.  Enid and Rebecca are suspended in a twilight world that Clowes’ unearthly neon blue shading suggests.   Having escaped from highschool, they have yet to decide how they want to live the rest of their lives, so they retrace the worn tracks of their own lives again and again until they become helplessly disgusted with themselves.

Clowes frequently makes this pacing literal, showing Enid and Rebecca revisiting old environments, activities, and topics of conversation.  An example of this repetition can be found on page twenty-seven, when the two teenagers briefly visit a Zine shop called Zine-O-Phobia before wandering off down the street.  Enid at least seems quite familiar with the store:  she’s shocked to find an acquaintance working there (“fuck you! Since when do you work here?”  “Since always on Tuesday”), and quickly zeroes in on a flier advertizing the store’s Special Appearances despite John Ellis’ attempts to freak her out.  Her bored expression normalizes the scene further, suggesting that this store is another fixture in the pair’s life, just like the Hubba Hubba Diner.

As the two leave the shop and walk down the street together, their conversation keeps the repetition rolling.  “What did John Ellis say about me?” Rebecca asks Enid, continuing her already established habit of grilling Enid about every male character she talks to.  Rebecca’s conversations with her friend are usually fueled by a half-sarcastic sexuality regardless of how appropriate the object of her apparent affection seems to be.   Whether they’re talking about a fellow teenager or a mumbling creeper hanging around diners, Rebecca appears to draw some strange satisfaction from inspiring Enid’s outrage and disgust, as we witness over and over again throughout the comic (for example: Enid responds to Rebecca’s “fuck you! At least I don’t want to fuck John Ellis!” on page 11 with “Ewww! I hate John Ellis!,”  Her “aww, but he’s so cute!” about a young garage sale patron on page 15 is matched with Enid’s brusque “he’s a fruit,” Rebecca declares “he was cute…” about ‘Johnny Apeshit’ on page 25 only to backtrack with “I’m kidding…” when Enid yells “Oh PLEASE, you’re a total moron!”, while her “I want to ‘make love’ to him!” about ‘Weird Al’ on page 44 is met with Enid’s aggressive declaration “I’m going to tell him you said that!” ).

This time, however, Enid doesn’t seem up to mocking Rebecca’s interests, even though she’s made herself an easy target by asking after the creeptastic John Ellis.   Instead, she focuses on Ellis himself, saying “he loves you…it’s so pathetic…” as she walks with her head down and her hands in her pocket.  Because Clowes has put so much effort into repeating and refining the rhythm of the young women’s conversations about men, even small variations like this one stand out to the reader and signal Enid’s preoccupation with another issue.  In this case, Clowes seems to suggest that Enid may be struggling with her own feelings about both the denounced John Ellis (who she does appear to hate) and Dan Clowes himself (who she has claimed, somewhat convincingly, that she’s attracted to and may also admire).    Her feelings of confusion and dissatisfaction with the routine of her life are palpable here and manifest themselves in page 27’s final panel with “the pants.”  “Hey look! It’s the pants!” Rebecca says excitedly, pointing at an abandoned, filthy pair of jeans on the sidewalk that they’ve apparently passed by before, again, and again, and again.  “I can’t believe they’re still here!” Enid says, and her words resonant on a deeper, symbolic level.  She speaks for the both of the teenagers with her incredulity – why the hell are they still here, on this same old street, walking the same old way to the same old places, living the same old life?

While I usually never think twice about an author writing in a voice of the opposite sex, I found it significant that Daniel Clowes chose to tell the story of his graphic novel, Ghost World, from the perspective of two teenage girls. The relationship of the protagonist, Enid and Rebecca, is characterized by blunt opinions and harsh language – Enid, in particular, has such a foul mouth, she would make even the swarthiest of sailors blanch with shock. While I’m not going to pretend that all girls are angels who never curse or talk about sex, the extent to which these girls engage in both of the aforementioned activities seems to be an exaggerated version of how two such girls would act in real life. As I read the novel, I was reminded of one of my high school friends who took pride in being loud and abrasive, although she doesn’t hold a candle to Enid and Rebecca. Even more unbelievable is the fact that one of the novel’s make characters, Josh, is the figure to which the girls should model themselves after. Josh is the voice of reason and it seems to be Enid’s mission to capture his attention, using any and every outrageous tactic at her disposal.

Enid’s first questionable run-in with Josh is related through a phone conversation between her and Rebecca. Wearing what appears to be a Catwoman mask, Enid tells her friend that she and Josh went to the adult book and video store, “Adam’s II.” The panels of this sequence progress from subject-to-subject during the phone call, then switch to scene-to-scene to show the encounter, which is conveyed through aspect-to-aspect transgressions. In the flashback, we see Enid asking Josh to go to accompany her to the adult store, saying, “Becky and I are dying to go in there but we can’t get any boys to take us…” I’m assuming this comment is for Josh’s benefit because I don’t see any reason why the girls can’t enter the store by themselves. Josh is understandably reluctant to set foot in the store, although Enid manipulates him into humoring her whim. Once inside, Enid is like a kid in a candy store, picking up various sex toys to show an uncomfortable Josh. Enid appears to be having fun, although her excitement might be embellished in an attempt to get Josh to loosen up. Appealing to Josh like a petulant child to her aggravated father, Enid begs Josh to borrow money to pay for the Catwoman mask; although he doesn’t seem to be enthused by the idea, Josh obviously caves in since Enid is presently wearing the mask. The reason I didn’t much care for this sequence is that Enid shows her immaturity by putting herself and Josh in an awkward situation, not caring that her actions are only making him more uncomfortable by the second.

The next instance in which Enid is portrayed in a negative light in relation to Josh is when she and Rebecca orchestrate a prank on an unsuspecting man. The girls respond to a personal ad in the newspaper, setting up a meeting under false pretenses. To personally witness their cruel joke, Rebecca and Enid ask Josh to drive them to the Hubba Hubba Diner, where the meeting is scheduled to take place. Although Josh tells them, “I don’t want to have anything to do with” the trick that is being played, the girls coerce him into agreeing to go with them. What I want to know is that if Josh knows his reasoning is correct, why doesn’t he attempt to make the girls see that what they’re doing is wrong instead of allowing himself to be taken advantage of? Josh’s allowing himself to be manipulated once again only escalates the problem that Enid and Rebecca have gotten themselves into. Some time into their meal at the diner, Rebecca calls attention to the man she believes to be the target of their prank. Once they are confronted with the reality of the situation, the girls are racked with guilt. They realize that the man caught on to their prank, which makes them feel even more ashamed. While it was necessary to a certain degree for the girls to experience the realization that their actions have consequences, I couldn’t help but think that the situation need never have happened in the first place. Even after going through the act of setting the stage for the joke, the girls didn’t have to make matters worse by being witnesses to their victim’s humiliation.

It is my fear that we will devote the entire class discussion of Daniel Clowes’ “Ghost World” going back and forth between people who didn’t like the book because it was “sad,” and people who liked the book because it was “not sad.” If this happens, there is a good chance I am going to smack somebody in the face.
What makes a book sad? Or happy? “Ghost World” is about growing up, and growing up is painful. So how else should one portray it? Enid and Rebecca hate most everything and everyone—but they’re intelligent and interesting, and they live in a place that has not offered them much in the way of culture. How else should they react? What I like about “Ghost World” is that it’s real. I read it for the first time during the summer before my senior year of high school, and I felt pangs of identification in the way only a seventeen-year-old can. I too lived in a small town where there wasn’t much to do! I too was one of the artsy geeky types in my high school! I too had an intense friendship with my best friend (I too feared people liked her better because she was prettier and less bitchy than me!)! I too was excited to graduate but also terrified to move on! If I wasn’t Enid Coleslaw, I wanted to be. She was intelligent, funny, and daring. She didn’t sugarcoat anything, for anyone.
With so much to identify with in “Ghost World,” the issue of “sad” or “happy” in the book was, to High School Athena, entirely beside the point. The book rang TRUE, and that was reason enough to jump for joy. I have never found another example, in any media, that is so faithful to the way high school girls talk to one another. It was only two years ago, in February of 2008, that DC Comics launched its “Minx” line of comics, aimed at girls. Just a year and a half later, they cancelled it. (Because it was idiotic.) They were looking to create something that might appeal to girls in the same way Manga has; they hoped to draw in the female readers that have traditionally been scarce in the comics world. If they’d wanted more readers like me and my friends, they should’ve just called Daniel Clowes.
I realize that DC, and Manga companies, probably don’t care much about appealing to the small crowd that reads alternative comics. But watching DC launch and quickly retire the Minx line, and, over the years, listening to a number of fellow comics-enthusiasts (mostly males) tell me they hated “Ghost World” because it was “too depressing,” or worse, because they just “can’t stand all that teenage girl talk,” I can’t help but feel that there’s a cultural gap here. Between people who instantly love and identify with “Ghost World,” and people who hate it because it’s a downer.
But maybe that’s just me being a judgmental Enid Coleslaw type. Enid’s kind of humor—judging others, hating everything, but in a way that is witty and smacks of truth (similar to Ben Tanaka’s sense of humor in “Shortcomings,” but with less self-delusion), is dark, but the best humor generally is.