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Funny Boy

Where, amid the current whining about the dearth of big-shot public intellectuals, is there a thought for the fate of the institutionally unaffiliated, luftmensch intellectual? Donald Phelps is the sort of nonacademic critic whose crafted essays are way too pop for the scholarly journals and whose aesthetic interests are far too quirky to ever be freelance-worthy no matter how many times Talkmagazine crawled back from the grave.

Brooklyn-born and Brooklyn College-educated, a day worker in a large New York City bureaucracy, Phelps published most of his pieces in small literary mags. I stumbled across his lone collection, Covering Ground, at the Strand some 20 years ago—it is a startling mix of pieces on the Continental Op, William Buckley, Isaac Bashevis Singer, old-time director Allan Dwan, the Supreme Court, Phelps's teeth, and his friend Manny Farber. It is often pretty brilliant, especially the piece on the "Muck School" of stand-up comedy.

Reading the Funniesanthologizes Phelps's essays on the newspaper comic strips of his childhood—a series of alternative universes whose "daily, hypnotic present tense" he celebrates in beautifully long, dense sentences. Phelps not only addresses the classics—Dick Tracy, Popeye, Little Orphan Annie—but defends such forgotten figures as the funny-animal illustrator Harrison Cady and unfunny single-panel cartoonist J.R. Williams. The thinking invested in this crumbling ephemera is moving in itself, particularly when Phelps praises Gasoline Alley's "majestic self-containment" and Wordsworthian feel for commemorative rites. Phelps's descriptions are precise and pungent. He characterizes the feel of Our Boarding House, home of the imperial deadbeat Major Hoople, as suffused with "the stodgy, dawdling, hand-in-pocket, near-torpor of such a place, where it seems perennially to be Sunday afternoon: The men shuffled about in vests and pullovers, toothpicks or cigar butts drooping from jutting lower lips. . . . The standard facial expression was a Ned Sparks stare of bilious doubt, which, one felt, would deepen to incredulity were the other person to say anything remotely new or important."

Reading the Funniesevokes not just the comics but a whole Depression-era mentalité. Phelps shows a surprising fondness for "cat man" B. Kliban that allows him to comment on R. Crumb and other underground cartoonists. I'd like to hear more on that—in fact, Phelps did write on the movie Crumbsome years back in Film Comment. Why doesn't someone collect the dozen essays—mainly on '30s movies—he was publishing in Film Commentas recently as January 2000? Better yet, why don't they ask him to write some more?


Also in This Week’s Books Section:

Joy Press on The Sweetest Dream by Doris Lessing

Alisa Solomon on Strangers in the House: Coming of Age in Occupied Palestine by Raja Shehadeh

VLS Bestsellers

 
  • Kris Dolgopol 10/20/2009 9:58:00 PM

    This particular book is a collection of essays by one of the premiere authorities on the art of the comic strip, Donald Phelps. Many of these essays first appeared in Nemo: The Classic Comics Library (Hogan's Alley spiritual predecessor). Many of these essays are difficult to find in their original form; therefore, Fantagraphics has done a real service by publishing them in a single volume. This book is a must-have for any serious fan of the comic strips by an author whose love of such a deceptively simple art form is as sincere as his desire to break such an art form down into its component parts. He illuminates the deeper meaning, which is there for anyone who desires to see. Donald Phelps does indeed break the strips down to the bare bones and exposes the complex intentions of the cartoonist. Mr. Phelps goes into great detail about the strips being both a microcosm (a world unto itself, with its own set of rules, standards, etc.) and a mirror of the much larger world in which the strip was produced. Mr. Phelps' calling Little Orphan Annie an "icon" not only emphasizes her importance in the small world of her strip, but also underscores her role as a sounding board for her creator's ideology in the world beyond (the so-called) "real world". In this sense, she, therefore, functions as a mirror of this "real world" which functions as both a sire and a midwife for the character herself, as well as the rest of the strip's cast. Mr. Phelps' treatment of Popeye is equally insightful. He shows the reader how, through the medium of the newspaper page, Segar brought the excitement and drama of a movie serial in the aptly named Thimble Theatre strip. Through its mock melodramas, Segar manages to take the characters as icons themselves, and breaks down to their most basic traits (Popeye as fearless, Wimpy as a mooch, Poopdeck Pappy as a "dirty old man",etc.) In making his characters "deceptively simple", Segar underscores just how deep they are. Popeye and Olive's romance, for example, is more complicated than it first appears. Mr. Phelps brings these insights to bear in many of these essays. The most interesting essay, though, is the one which I haven't seen published anywhere else, and which, at fifty-eight pages, is the longest in the book: the essay on Harrison Cady's Peter Rabbit strip. I will start off by saying that the Peter in Cady's strip is based on Thorton Burgess' character, not Beatrix Potter's. This is a strip which, I think, has been unfairly overlooked by most histories, but Mr. Phelps more than makes up for that oversight. He goes in depth, analyzing both strip and creator. The beginning of the essay is spent analyzing Cady's "pre-Peter" cartooning, such as his political cartoons. Mr. Phelps dissects both the cartoonist and his (or her) strip with a trained scientist's eye. It is not only the art but the science of the comic strip which he brings to the forefront in his essays. I, myself, collect issues of Nemo, and, as such, have seen many of these essays before (one essay in the book even appeared in the first issue of Hogan's Alley). The book, however, provides a unique format for those who have read these essays previously, as well as newcomers. Mr. Phelps makes the strips fresh for both the newcomer and the longtime fan. One feature of the book is that nearly all of the essays are followed by a sequence of the strip that was highlighted by said essay. Mr. Phelps lets the reader judge for him (her) self whether or not he hit the proverbial mark with his essay. As I have said, this book is a must-have for any true fan, be they expert or novice; but, read the book, and do what Mr. Phelps lets you do: judge for yourself. Review by Kris Dolgopol

 

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