I’ve just received a publicity package from Farrar, Straus & Giroux Publishers in the States. Their Hill and Wang imprint is wrapping up production of three comic novels: a biography of Malcolm X, a biography of Ronald Reagan, and a comic adaptation of the 9/11 Report.

They call them “novel graphics” as opposed to “graphic novels” (er…). I’ve only received the first six pages of the Malcolm X comic novel (in addition to the first six pages of the Reagan biography and the first several pages of the 9/11 Report), but I’m already beginning to see some problems.

For instance, Thomas Leben, publisher at Hill and Wang, lauds the ability of the comics medium to convey profound messages simply: “… the third page in Randy Duburke’s graphic biography of Malcolm X […] captures the entire arc of slavery, emancipation, and Jim Crow that set the stage for Malcolm Little’s life.”

Comics is a fantastic medium, yes, but that doesn’t mean that it can do justice to phenomena as complex and deeply rooted as slavery in a single panel. (Okay, this is complicated, but it actually can. It really depends on the size of the panel, the way elements are represented, and how subject matters are treated therein. Needless to say it’s a very difficult thing to do, and despite the fact that Duburke is a remarkably talented artist, he doesn’t — can’t — pull it off in a panel the size of an average two- or three-panel comic strip. This doesn’t mean that a three-panel comic strip can’t deal with complex issues, Charles Schulz and Bill Watterson show, very finely, that they can. But they never tried to canvass slavery, emancipation, and Jim Crow in a single page — and for good reason.)

The issue, here, isn’t the comics adaptation. I think any subject — bar none — can be presented more than adequately by the comics form. The problem is the content.

The Malcolm X biography is written by Andrew Helfer, the same guy who wrote the script for the comic biography of Ronald Reagan. It’s hard to think of two more, well, opposite public figures. If I were going to write a biography of Reagan, it wouldn’t be flattering. If I were to write a biography of Malcolm, it wouldn’t be simplified.

There are other problems with the first few pages (especially with respect to details of Malcolm’s life, and, particularly, his demise). The promotional package, for instance, remarks that Malcolm’s “words inspired generations of African Americans — and played a role in his violent death.” What, exactly, does that mean? Yes, that’s right, Malcolm preached violence, and hence that violence came to reclaim him — he got what he deserved, that scary, even respectable, but nevertheless shit-disturbing nigger. If this biography doesn’t mention, at the very least, Malcolm’s own doubts about the NOI’s involvement in his impending death, then there are problems.

Having said that, I can’t prematurely judge the final product until I’ve read the entire, 100 page graphic novel. Which should be coming out sometime in November. (The 9/11 Report adaptation will be coming out in September, five years anniversary edition.) Then I can offer a proper review.

In the meanwhile, here’s an article on the three “novel graphics” from Publisher’s Weekly, it has the first page of the 9/11 Report adaptation.

I was watching CityTV News last night when they aired a story about three men urinating on a national veterans memorial on Canada Day.

The news reporter said these young men had taken their freedom for granted.

I don’t buy that.

I think these young men actually hate Canadian values and freedom. But why? Why do they hate us?

From the pictures, it seemed these ostensibly Canadian-born, white-skinned men were inspired by international fascist extremist organizations that require their young followers to most heinously urinate on freedom-loving people’s memorials.

Canada has long provided safe haven to these fascist extremists. For instance, Ernst Zündel, the world’s greatest publisher of Nazi fascist freedom-hating propaganda, comfortably resided in Canada, doing his anti-freedom activities for decades, until he was recently deported to Germany to face charges relating to his Nazi fascist freedom-hating propaganda.

While it hasn’t been proven, I don’t doubt for a moment that those young men were inspired by Ernst Zündel-ian international fascist freedom-hating evil men organizations.

I think there is a growing and alarming trend of homegrown fascism, as evidenced by these men. Also, the Prime Minister of Canada, Stephen Harper, is reopening the debate on same-sex marriages.

Do you know who else hated homosexuals? That’s right … Hitler and the Nazi party.

We have to defend Canadian rights and freedoms from these evil fascist freedom-hating Canadian-values-defiling neo-Nazi fascist evil freedom-haters.

Otherwise, we will all have to live in a climate of fear, where white-skinned men will urinate on us because of the colours of our– wait, this sounds familiar.

ANT352Y1
South Asia: Practices, Theories, Representations 52L

This course examines the institution of the royal court in the ancient New World as a nexus for negotiation of power and assertion of cultural identity. Case studies concentrate on the Maya; Aztec and Inca cultures provide important comparative contexts. We also explore the integration of textual and material evidence in investigating ancient cultures.
Prerequisite: ARH305H1
This is a Social Science course.

I think I was 6 or 7 years old when I recognized the difference between South Asia and South America.* Maybe younger. I think it was around the same time when I realized how absurd oxymorons like “ancient New World” can be.

* Someone fucked up. This is the course description for ANT421H1, which, apparently without any sense of irony, is entitled “Royal Courts of the Ancient New World”.

ANT426H1
Orientalism: Western Views of the Other 39L

Language and imagery representing the “oriental” in the West. Emphasis on representations of the “Semites”, the Islamic peoples of North Africa, the Middle East and South Asia, as well as the Jews from the mid-nineteenth to the mid-twentieth century.
Prerequisite: ANT323Y1/ANT329Y1/any 300-level course in INI/VIC/NMC/Jewish Studies

Three guesses as to what one of the primary reading materials for this course is. Maybe I should take it and focus on comics, but it’s not offered this year. Besides, in reading over thirty years of Marvel Comics I’ve only ever once come across an Arab superhero. Arabian Knight. He wears a turban, has a scimitar, and flies on a magic carpet. I kid you not:

(That was part of Marvel’s Contest of Champions in 1982. Two years later in 1984 Marvel had a Secret Wars event. Here is one of the funniest videos I’ve seen in a long time, re: Secret Wars.)

Sometimes — most of the times — it’s hard to escape the feeling that at the end of the day I’m one of the smartest dumbasses I know. I’ve been at this University for three years and the most original and convincing work I’ve done is reconciling the place of virtue and passion in Rousseau’s Levite of Ephraim; or analysing the role of stereotypes in Sacco’s Safe Area Gorazde. Oh, and my first year epic — Tolkien’s use of Faramir of Gondor in the Lord of the Rings as a representative of his own motivations, ideas, fears, etc. If the expression on your face is somewhere between “what the fuck?” and “what the fuck?” then welcome to my life.

And then, all that shit isn’t all that original anyway. So in the end, what have I accomplished? Nothing. What have I learned about what I want to do? Nothing. All I know is what I don’t want to do, and that’s what I’m probably going to end up doing.

I’ve learned how I’ll probably never know how many genes, exactly, were on or off (or somewhere in between) in shaping my nose, unless (and perhaps even after) I get my genome mapped out. Or at least that part of it — the nose part. If there is a nose part. There are probably nose parts, spread out all over the place. I also know what my kidney looks like, under a microscope. Okay, not mine, but a rat’s. Apparently they’re very similar. I drew real live (dead) human bones once (more than once). I’ve also learned that a dead man’s half-back-torso is heavy, and, when stored in formaldehyde in a fridge, smelly. But I knew that latter part from grade eleven pig dissection.

I’ve come to accept the theory of evolution as conclusive. I no longer believe homosexuality is something to cringe at, and defend it. All that and more, and none of it in the classroom. For all it matters I could’ve been panhandling in the Toronto Reference Library or Robarts these past three years. As long as I had access to a computer and the Internet I would’ve been fine. I also would’ve been spared reading Rousseau’s Levite of Ephraim. Which, admittedly, is a very short read.

In the end, I feel like I’m a little bit of everything, not enough of anything, and far more confused about my future than I have a right to be.

If you’re fucking competent enough to type my fucking name properly in the “TO” line of the fucking e-mail, why the fuck can’t you get my name right in the fucking documentation. What the fuck is wrong with you, fucking pieces of shit, when you type “Naoman Ali (noaman.ali[at]utoronto.ca)” or better yet, “Nouman Ali (noaman.ali[at]utoronto.ca)” — how the fuck does that enter your numbnut mind, fuckheads. It’s right there! I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a Nouman Ali wondering why the fuck people are sending him messages for the President of ASSU — only, you never get my fucking e-mail address wrong. Can’t you fucking cross reference, or are you trying to teach me how to spell my fucking name just because you came across some dickwad who spells it differently. You don’t type “Pakka Sinarvo (pekka.sinervo[at]utoronto.ca)” so why can’t you have the fucking decency to take the fucking time out to spell my name right, AT LEAST ONCE, especially since my fucking name is right there in the fucking e-mail address that you had to type out to send me the fucking message in the first place, you fuckwad pieces of shit. It’s bad enough that you can’t pronounce it and try to say it as quickly as you can — at least spell it right, you fucktards. You’re supposed to be the fucking “great minds” that are part of this fucking university, fucking fuckers — get this right. It’s not like you did it once, you keep doing it again and again, fuckers. Fuck.

(Not accepting comments in case some asswipe wants to make a witty comment involving the misspelling of my name.)

Edit: accepting comments now. If you make a joke about my name I’m going to break your fucking legs and ban you, not necessarily in that order.

Taken in the lobby of Sidney Smith, June 13 (Brazil vs. Croatia):

I think it’s fantastic that all these people (often including myself) can gather to watch the matches and cheer and (in my case) relate football to colonialism.

Having said that, according to Wikipedia, a key component of fire safety is:

Not exceeding the maximum occupancy listing for any part of the building (Making sure that an area isn’t so full of people that they can’t all get out quickly in an emergency).

I’m not entirely sure if that area classifies. I mean, it’s really not hard to leave the building from Sidney Smith lobby, unless you’re a total dunce cap and forgot how you entered (knowing some of the purportedly “great” minds on campus, I wouldn’t be surprised). Maybe stampeding — considering how the University treats us like cattle (again, I wouldn’t be surprised).

I asked the Dean and co., one week ago, if they could look into getting football matches streamed into the useless screens in the Sidney Smith wraparound (study space) for the crowd to diffuse a bit — no response as of yet. I think they’ll eventually get back to me — and only if I persist — on July 10.

Any academic who writes or lectures on colonialism or the colonial experience will quote, cite or otherwise refer to Joseph Conrad (particularly the Heart of Darkness), often directly, at least once, and usually twice or more in his or her output (i.e., writings, lectures, etc.).

I am currently carrying out a massive research project to try and prove this thesis. (Well, no, not really.)

Police and thieves in the streets
(Oh yeah!)
Scaring the nation with their guns and ammunition

Sometimes it’s not easy to know who to be scared of — and I guess that’s the point.

Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you’re always afraid
You step out of line, the man come and take you away

On the one hand, if it’s all true, then we (us, them, the other, those of Muslim extraction) can easily be the victims of terrorism when, say, we ride on the TTC, or go to visit the CN Tower, or do whatever it is we do. Just like you (us, them).

We can also be the victims of misguided zeal in showing the world (Bush?) that terrorists (them, the other) do exist here — when they really don’t. We might be the ones who get arrested and charged as terrorists for walking down beaches, or playing paintball with friends, or discussing Islam. For the glory of the alphabet soup agencies and their projects — Project Thread(bare?) and the like.

And then we (us, them, the other) might also be the ones who blow you up. For no good reason, of course. Because everything we do is entirely irrational and backward. Because evil exists. In this world, in our (your?) country. Hide your (our?) children, lock our (your?) doors, buy everyone a cellphone to keep in touch at all times — the newest, the latest, the greatest: family plan, weekends free and weekdays at a great price, text messaging, mp3s, on your cell phone! — protect our (your?) freedoms by restricting yours (ours?) here and abroad! Thank you for civilizing me, again and again and again.

Blow up, blown up, blown out of proportion.

And I hope to the gods, the god damned and everything in between that it’s the latter, in whole or at least in part.

Recently, I’ve been forcing myself to sketch people on the subway. (Forcing myself by not taking along my iPod or a book to read.)

Perhaps entirely unethically I don’t ask the people I’m drawing if I can draw them. Mostly, I suppose, they don’t know that I am drawing them.

Tonight, as I was coming home from campus, I was sketching this gentleman (the one on the right – 6/4/06). I suppose he rather quickly realized that I was sketching him — he even cooperated by holding position. He got off at Victoria Park station and as he was leaving (I was sitting right beside the door) he said, “Thank you.”

I was kind of embarassed, I just smiled back at him and showed the sketch to him. He smiled back and showed that he was pleased and then got off the train as the doors closed. I guess I should’ve said “Thank you,” but I was too flustered and embarassed to say anything.

But that was nice.

I suppose it may seem like my subjects are typically geriatric males. This isn’t the case, it just that they happen to sit in opportune places and/or there’s something in their faces — character — that makes me want to draw them. Most young people have these plain, bubble gum faces without any “character” — lines, for instance, their faces are rather smooth.

Having said that I do think it’s necessary that I draw all types of people.

On my way to campus today I stopped by the Coles bookstore in Scarborough Town Centre (as I often do, to read comics). There was a “meet the author” table set up in front. The author, Cecil Leslie, was standing behind the table with two stacks of his two books, business cards and bookmarks. After I finished reading the comics I went and spoke to him for a while about his novels.

Decadence is an updated, Toronto-fied version of Pygmalion or My Fair Lady, he said. And Water Colours is a Toronto-fied version of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (West Indian man, East Asian woman).

I noticed that the novels were publsihed by “Xlibris” — a self-publishing company. So after I got home tonight I looked up his novels on the web site (follow links above). I read some of the excerpts from his novels.

His writing isn’t exactly the greatest I’ve ever seen. In fact, it’s really … er … not good at all. (In his defense, it appears he started writing Water Colours as a film script … that’s pretty much how it reads….)

All the same, I have to admire the man for pursuing this line and wish him the best of luck. I just hope for his sake that he doesn’t quite his day-job as a technical support analyst for TIFF.

On peppers being fruits:

s.dot says:
isn’t it that anything with a seed is a fruit?
noaman says:
yeah but
noaman says:
it’s not like you know
noaman says:
you’re not like
noaman says:
yeah that’s a fruit when you go to the store
noaman says:
you’re like, that’s a vegetable
noaman says:
then someone’s like, no, bitch, that’s a fruit
noaman says:
and you’re like, shit!
s.dot says:
you have issues