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Blankets: An Illustrated Novel
by Craig Thompson
A review by Chris Bolton
There are a few graphic novels that I show to people who think comix are "funny
books for kids": Maus
by Art Spiegelman, a volume of Neil Gaiman's Sandman series (usually Season
of Mists or the stand-alone Death books), and if they're fond of depressing
but beautiful material, Jimmy
Corrigan by Chris Ware. But for the most part, such conversion attempts are
futile. Either you appreciate comix or you don't; if the commingling of the written
word and a static image doesn't strike your fancy, then it's unlikely that even
the finest works of comic art will sway your opinion.
Craig Thompson's graphic novel Blankets is not a book to waste on conversion
attempts. It's a treasure trove of image and word, to be savored by those in
the know and neglected by those who won't appreciate its brilliance and beauty.
Its length — nearly 600 pages — may seem daunting, but the pages whip effortlessly
past: I read it in one night, virtually in one sitting, from about midnight
to 3 a.m. It's a fast read, but Blankets is worth revisiting, if only
to luxuriate in its astonishing imagery and pick up all the details you missed
the first time when you were too eager to find out what happens next. Thompson's
layouts are intricate and organic; instead of the rigid six- or eight-panel
pages of standard comics, he varies the shape, size, even the borders of his
panels, frequently achieving a collage-like effect that would simply be impossible
in any other medium. Like the best comix stories, Blankets emphasizes
the medium's exclusive strengths. Thompson's illustrations pack more beauty
and power than much prose or poetry, and the frozen images allow the reader's
gaze to linger, to examine, to climb inside the picture in ways that film cannot.
Blankets isn't simply a pretty picture book, however. Thompson's autobiographical
story involves you in its characters from the first panel, in which two young
boys endure the familiar agony of sharing a bed with a sibling. The conflicts
between Craig and his younger brother, Phil, are hilarious and poignant, and
immediately emphasize the advantages of the comix medium over prose or film.
Thompson's visual style exaggerates the near-cartoony aspect of the childhood
battles, then segues into realism as Craig enters adolescence. When the teenage
outcast Craig, struggling to reconcile his artistic leanings with his devotion
to religion, meets the similarly alienated Raina at a church camp, both are
instantly smitten and begin a long-distance courtship. Finally Craig gets the
chance to stay with Raina and her family. As Craig and Raina grow closer, their
worlds opening to new possibilities, Thompson's illustrations engage in artistic
flights that border on the fantastical, employing imagery that is sometimes
metaphorical (dramatizing Craig's feelings, for instance, when he and Raina
are depicted as wading precariously in uncharted waters, or floating in the
air together above their surroundings) while at other times emphasizing the
intimacy of the couple through a heightened montage style that blends the physical
connection of Craig and Raina with the snowfall outside (it's nearly impossible
to describe but astonishing to behold).
The narrative is every bit as strong as the art that propels it. Thompson's
dialogue is spare but effective, and while the expression of teenagers' feelings
can veer dangerously close to maudlin, Thompson manages to convey that emotional
fervor in a sympathetic and engrossing style. I was reminded of the astonishment
of first love, when any expression seems inadequate and yet one strives to convey
these rampant feelings through art, bad poetry, letters, mixed tapes, etc. Despite
one's cynicism, Thompson manages to draw the reader in with his fluid lines
and raw sentiment. When an artistic rendering of Craig and Raina is painted
over toward the end of the book, the sense of loss at the death of romantic
innocence is palpable and stirring.
The two storylines are thematically linked by blankets: the blanket Craig and
his younger brother were forced to share, and the blanket under which the older
Craig and Raina find safety and intimacy. Along the way Thompson manages to
touch on universal feelings of love, idealization, alienation, disillusionment,
and regret; at every turn the images keep pace with his words, transforming
a simple story into something elemental. Words cannot do it justice. One page
after the next opens to wondrous images, and the feelings behind them are sincere
and overpowering. I would be unlikely to share Blankets with someone
who told me they wanted to understand comix. Instead, I would give it to anyone
who told me they wanted to read a book that made them feel transcendent, sad,
generous, hopeful — but above all, to truly feel something.
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