Nick Drnaso’s artistic style implicitly reproduces the orderliness of how news is meant to be. The structure of the panels is clean-cut and uniformly organized, either with congruently sized frames throughout the page, or a few larger panels surrounded by smaller ones, aligned in four by six grids. Outlines of characters and backgrounds are precisely filled with homogeneous blocks of color, with no shading or gradients present — alike how news is meant to represent the truth in a black-and-white manner with no grey areas. Even the illustration of the characters, whose facial expressions bear few details and rarely display overt emotion, engages the reader in an instinctual, emotional detachment from the setting. Nick Drnaso’s depiction of the characters is never overt in the responses it’s meant to elicit, despite evincing genuine empathy and consequently, biases — similar to how news channels are meant to present objective accounts and should not set out to sway viewers’ opinions, yet still manage to do so in other discreet ways. Calvin, the protagonist, is depicted as a nice, lonely guy who never emotes or opines on the surface level, though the reader can infer his true feelings. As the reader follows him around and the plot unfolds, they naturally assume that they have the most direct channel to Calvin’s interiority — therefore, when these purportedly cut-and-dry news outlets depict Calvin as “hostile,” or twist his words into intentions that the reader most likely did not assign, the reader is especially jarred. Would Drnaso’s discussion of news, “fake and non,” be as impactful if his stylistic presentation were more dramatic or sensational? 

What stood out to me most after reading Nick Drnaso’s “Sabrina” was the way in which the work highlighted the successes of the graphic novel as a medium of storytelling. As stated in The Chicago School of Media Theory’s page on “graphic novel,” a novel’s success can be found in its realism of storytelling and ability to accurately portray the human experience. I believe that the interaction between the text and illustrations in “Sabrina” made for an authentic representation of the human experience and the world we live in.

The use of drab, muted colors in the illustrations of Calvin’s home allude to the tragic nature of the situation that brings him and Teddy together before the reader is even made aware of Sabrina’s murder. The dreary colors provide a sense of the loss of hope and meaning that pervade both Teddy and Calvin’s lives; Teddy doesn’t know how to make sense of Sabrina’s death and Calvin doesn’t know how best to support Teddy while he processes the tragedy. The minimalist illustrations and measured line work emphasize a similar feeling of being lost, especially when it comes to the characters’ facial expressions. 

I agree with Lucy’s point that the lack of text across multiple panels made the grief in those scenes more poignant. For example, on page 63, Sandra’s breakdown is followed by several text-less panels. This empty wandering and the sense of hopelessness present is better represented by no words at all than by narrative description. Sandra is pictured on the floor of her home, and it’s left up to the reader to interpret her facial expressions and positioning to determine what she is thinking and feeling in these panels. This effectively begs the reader to attempt to empathize with Sandra. Overall, Drnaso’s “Sabrina” has given me a greater appreciation for the graphic novel’s ability to succinctly portray the human experience in a way that forces the reader to consciously use the tools of the medium to empathize with the characters and interpret the work.

Video:”STOP Trying to Make Straight Pride Happen” 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfsC9sJ0js4 

Look, I’m just going to say it right off the bat: I don’t have a problem with the gays. I’m not even sure if it is politically correct to call them “the gays” anymore. It is so hard to keep track nowadays; first “queers” was offensive, and now I’m told that that’s what they want to be called. I got dirty looks from the girls behind be in line at the grocery store for saying “dyke” on the phone to my buddy the other day, but apparently they can call themselves that and it’s fine? I call bullshit. You can’t just call yourself a dyke and then get mad when other people say it. 

They think they’re so powerful now that they have the right to marry. If you ask me, things were better before the government allowed them to do whatever they want. It’s gotten to the point that if you don’t fawn over two dudes practically making out in the street, people think you’re homophobic. I’m not homophobic, like I said, people can do whatever they want, but I don’t want to see that stuff while I’m minding my own business. 

I was at the bar with my buddy a couple weeks ago, and lo and behold, right on the TV was a news story about this year’s gay pride parade. 

We both scoffed. “Why do they need a whole parade for being gay?” I asked, “Haven’t they got what they wanted by being able to get married? The whole thing just seems like a spectacle just to feel special and different.” 

“I don’t know,” he sighed, “Every time I go anywhere there’s pride this, pride that, ‘be proud of who you are’ bullshit. But if I say that I’m proud to be straight, suddenly I’m the bad guy.” 

“You know you’re right. Wouldn’t it be funny if we organized a straight pride parade? Just to show them that they can’t make us feel bad about who we are just because they want to feel special about themselves.” 

He laughed, “Yeah I’m sure they would love that” 

“No, I’m serious. I am so tired of feeling like I shouldn’t be proud of my heterosexuality. I’ve faced problems because of it too, you know! If you ask me, straight people are the oppressed ones nowadays; we have to keep quiet about who we’re into while the queers get to parade around the city with their rainbow flags and fag haircuts, practically humping in the streets. Let’s start our OWN parade.” 

And so we did. We took to the streets the next weekend, holding up signs depicting heterosexual love, with flags outlined in solely black and white, so as not to resemble their rainbow flag. People didn’t take to our parade very kindly, but hey, we’re just exercising our right to free speech right? Maybe by this time next year, we’ll have our own month and more supporters. Through our brave endeavor, the heterosexual voice will be heard again after being silenced for so many years. 

— A PROUD straight white man

Process Notes: This narrative is very ironic, and in some ways a bit too much so. However, heterosexual people organizing a straight pride parade actually did happen last year and for most of the reasons that the narrator mentions in my narrative. I wanted to be able to expose this type of thinking in order to highlight that not only is a straight pride parade not necessary, but it is intrinsically homophobic. Queer people on a daily basis are still fighting for the rights that many straight people take for granted, for example, not being called “fag” and “dyke.”

Nick Drnaso’s “Sabrina” deals with a situation that could only happen in our current time. The quick dissemination of information that accompanied the development of social media was crucial to how events unfold in “Sabrina.” How perpetrators display violence online in order to grab attention, and how a tragic event is consumed as a commodity for the public was shockingly similar to what we often encounter in the news today.

I was particularly struck with the scene where Sandra reads the messages she received from anonymous people. Although the frames from page 153 to 155 lack movement, and Sandra’s facial expressions do not change much, the scene expressed the depth of pain Sandra had to endure. The composure Sandra maintained while reading the comments, ranging from naïve to malignant, emphasized how violent it is to demand victims to prove their stories are true.

When Anna asks Sandra if she feels better after reading the messages, Sandra’s answer was “not really.” Similarly, Teddy replies that he does not know how to answer if he is happy or not after he meets Calvin in his new job. Even after he moves, Calvin is haunted by the idea that someone is still watching him. This shows that although the people around Sabrina slowly recover, the pain does not completely leave them. However, “Sabrina” ends with the message that people are still capable of moving on. In the end, Sandra goes on the bike ride that she promised to go with Sabrina and races forward. As it would be impossible to take things back, the people in “Sabrina” copes with the pain they unjustly encountered and moves on with their life.

Two frames in Sabrina perplexes me. Overall, Drnaso’s delivery reads as attentively cautious–the constructed world extends and only extends to horizons required by the story. Yet the reporter and the pet shelter manager sitting at their desks are granted an abundance of details. Post-it notes of varying colors fill up pegboard behind them. Their little corners are clustered with indoor plants and idiosyncratic objects. For persons that can be easily written off as “a journalist” or “the manager”, who exist less like characters and more as conditions to the lives of protagonists, why provide such intimate portraits? Why do they summon moments of illustrative completeness, when Sabrina is often remembered against a backdrop of some solid color?

It would be dishonest to pick out these two frames alone. They jolted my eyes so I began to register that canned beans in the supermarket have more shading than most characters’ faces. Emails and news articles are transcribed/written in indexical entirety, even though the narrative integrity wavers (Calvin’s basement conversation with his colleague) and slurps into fractured flashes (Sandra remembering Sabrina as she falls asleep).

Like cici’s favorite book, which asks you to look at the picture closely and carefully, the fullness of the two woman’s office corners almost hits me like a sudden moment of clarity. Sometimes we remember viscerally the details for no reason. In this story so entrenched in the separated, personal glooms, these moments just present a view in of the world devoid of internal turbulence or fog. Perhaps it’s saying that we just “see” the world when we behold with more indifference.

I am reminded of Calvino’s interwinding strands of the abstract and the concrete. He urges us to at once paint the describable qualities and distill useful abstractions. We think of the people we love in the abstract.  The image their name evokes comes as a composite smile. Our fears haunt us in dreams of vague backgrounds. The abstract, simplified image can still bring visceral pain. Other times, the moments of “thick description” doesn’t quite match with “importance”. Perhaps what we notice isn’t quite understood, like when Teddy opens the book for a second time.

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSOLz1YBFG0

Assignment:

“But can she wear red,” the staff writer queried, “without it seeming like we’re overly sexualizing her?”

“Goddamit, it’s the color of her party, she has to wear red, she actually does wear red.” The head writer was exhausted, and it was already Wednesday. The skit had to be finalized by 5:00 PM. “Don’t worry, our audience will get it. SNL has probably the most educated viewership in the world. Our jokes are written for a bachelor’s degree or higher. And we’re just copying what she actually does.”

In the corner, an intern shifted on her stool. She had much to learn and had been silent for the entirety of her three months there. Her dad had told her last night on the phone that she needed to speak up more if she wanted a return offer, and this seemed like an ideal opportunity.

“Excuse me.” It came out like a croak, her throat dry from disuse. Louder. “Excuse me.”

The head writer looked up, blinking in surprise at the college sophomore whom everyone had assumed to be mute.

“Excuse me, but I don’t think I understand. Are we trying to make the point that we need to stop sexism in political media or is that the joke? If the point is that people need to stop making fun of women for what they look like and sound like and stuff like that, then why are we also making fun of them?” The intern sat back, out of breath.

The head speech writer smiled. She remembered those days viscerally, the thumping of the heart so loud it felt like the whole conference room could hear it, the panic of desperately trying to beat away Imposter Syndrome and speak with confidence. She made a mental note to teach the intern how to lower the pitch of her voice when she was nervous.

“So, you’re asking are we making fun of these women or empowering them? The answer is yes. We’re empowering them because the way the media treats them is bullshit. It’s 2008 and we still haven’t made it past the Madonna-Whore complex. Apparently, a woman can either be sexy and dumb or smart and a boner-killer. And the worst thing is that the news media speak from a position of assumed authority and lay claim to impartiality. So, don’t get me wrong, this skit is about calling them out. But, at the same time, we aren’t the news media, we’re a comedy show. We comment on politics, but we make no claim to impartiality. We’re not reporting the news, and, let’s not forget, we’re supposed to be funny. So, I’m allowed to be political and judgmental and mad. Let me ask you a question. Are you a Democrat?”

Now, the intern blinked in surprise. “Yes, of course, I mean…”

“You’d have to be to work here, right? And so am I. And so is Tina Fey, the fake Sarah Palin, and Amy Poehler, the fake Hilary Clinton. And we think that the real Sarah Palin is acting like a gun-crazy ditz and it makes us mad. We think she’s an absolute liability to this country because she’s so goddam incompetent. So, we’re going to show that. But, by the same token, we also think that the real Hilary Clinton is absolutely frigid and it’s hysterical. If I would write a skit attacking any idiot, male politician in Washington without a qualm, I’m not going to just let these ladies off the hook.”

The intern sat back, her face turning a deep red. She felt stupid. She didn’t fully understand the answer, but she could get the shape of it, and she felt ashamed that she couldn’t have figured it out on her own.

The head writer looked at her, shrinking back into the corner. “It was a really good question.”

Working notes: 

I wanted to do a fictitious imagining of the writers’ room at SNL while writing this skit because I don’t often write fiction and wanted to stretch myself a little. I found it absolutely fascinating to consider what might have been going through the writers’ heads, especially because this skit became so popular – the line “I can see Russia from my house” is still often attributed to Sarah Palin, when it was actually Tina Fey who says it in this skit. I also wanted to include a dynamic between a female intern and her boss, who is also a woman, to highlight and parallel the discussion that is being had about Clinton, Palin and women in politics.

https://twitter.com/QueenInYeIIow/status/1219081537976709121 (Tweeted by @QueenInYellow 8:17 PM,  Jan 19, 2020)

https://twitter.com/MattBinder/status/1219015376530485249 (Tweeted 3:54 PM, Jan 19, 2020, Retweeted by @QueenInYellow about 5-6 hours later)

One day, sometime in the last half-decade or so, I woke up and the world was binary. Let me clarify. I did not, as characters of varied science fictions do, open my eyes and see strings of 0s and 1s. Rather, each object in my room had a value associated with it: “good” or “bad.” It wasn’t an instinct or even really a word assigned to it, but rather, I just knew that everything in my room was either good or bad. I had been out late the night before, so my reflection was bad. The picture with my parents, perched on the edge of my dresser, was good. The weekend before, I had finally pulled the trigger and bought the dark green comforter I’d had my eye on for a while, but up until today, I’d been unsure whether it went with the color of my room and my bed. But now I was sure. It didn’t. It was bad.

Life is easier when you’re sure of things. Actually, scratch that. “Sure” is the wrong word. “Sure” implies that the people around me could have other opinions. As I mentioned above, it wasn’t like that; I knew what was good and what was bad.

People have asked me what it was like to lose friends because of this change. I tell them that I didn’t. From the moment I heard Jeff say that “we might not get Medicare-for-all on day one, even in a Sanders presidency,” I knew that he was no longer my friend. Six days later, I was talking to my mom on the phone when she said “it’s sad, but I just feel like Biden might be the only one who can beat Trump,” and I haven’t spoken to her since. I’d say that I feel good about my decisions, but no part of that sentence would be true. I don’t feel good; I know that my actions were good. I made no decision to leave these people behind; rather, it was the only action I could take. 

Since that day, I have, however, gained a community. It turns out there are millions of us who know absolute good from absolute bad. Additionally, I have learned that there are tens of millions of others who believe they know good from bad. Unfortunately for them, I know that every single one of their opinions is wrong and bad.

My daily routine consists of two things. First I go to work, where I do public relations and social media strategy for ExxonMobil. When I get home, I go straight to Twitter so I can make sure other people know what’s right and what’s wrong. I’m providing a service, educating people who don’t know better that their opinions are wrong and that that makes them bad people.

Unfortunately for them, once they’re wrong once, they’re wrong forever. I honestly do not know when politicians like Elizabeth Warren and Joe Biden, actors and activists like Bradley Whitford and Alyssa Milano, or reporters like Anderson Cooper and Rachel Maddow first became bad, but I do know that I have never seen them say anything good.

I guess that’s just the way it is now.

Working Notes

The two tweets linked above seemingly contradict each other, one criticizing Senator Elizabeth Warren for not creating conflict with former Vice President Joe Biden, and one making fun of her for criticizing him. The only commonalities are that they were tweeted/retweeted by the same account, less than a couple hours apart, and that they are both critical of Senator Warren. I decided to attempt to tell the story of how a person gets to the point of critiquing opposite stances by the same person. By caricaturing the idea that someone knows pure right from pure wrong, I attempted to create the logical leaps that would lead to this cognitive dissonance. By ending with “I guess that’s just the way it is now,” I connect this phenomenon from the individual person to the societal level.

After reading Drnaso’s Sabrina, I was left with a deep feeling of unease. This was certainly due to the content of the work, but I think that the medium, especially in the way that comics allow an author to show moments of silence, amplified this feeling. A particular example of this are the scenes that show Sandra trying to go about her life while grieving her sister. The lack of text in these scenes made the grief more poignant than these moments could be in a traditional novel.

In regard to the story, I found myself empathizing with Calvin Wrobel. He was attempting to have a “normal” life in an increasingly fast-paced, interconnected world. I thought the exploration of Calvin as both someone who consumes the news cycle and becomes part of it was incredibly interesting. This is exemplified by when he gets spammed with emails after being ambushed by the news team, and then suddenly doesn’t get any more emails when a mass shooting occurs, and the public moves on to that tragedy. From the fictitious Calvin, I felt the strange sense of fatigue and fear that feels increasingly prevalent in our real world, where the news keeps us abreast of – and even involves in – every terrible thing that happens. The discourse that this book presents, especially in regard to the conspiracy theorists that harass Calvin, really made me question: have things have always been so sinister and violent and we simply weren’t aware of it because the world wasn’t as connected or is this new technology – and, truly, new culture – breeding whole new types of evil, on the part of both institutions and individuals?

While reading Sabrina, I found that Drnaso’s style affected me, as the reader, greatly. Between the relatively large number of textless cells, the occasional moments in which one action just jumps to another sans explanation, and the way in which many of the characters sort of blended together, I found myself experiencing a delirium of sorts that mimicked the one that I feel when grieving. When my grandfather passed away last week, there were things that just didn’t seem real and Sabrina made me feel similarly.

For me, one of the major factors that influenced my feelings while reading this graphic novel was Drnaso’s style of illustration. The colors were generally muted and the characters seemed flat, almost waxy in a way. This is a style that I generally appreciate because it allows me to focus so much on the storyline without being trapped in a sensory hall of mirrors. I wouldn’t say that this work embodies Calvino’s idea of exactitude, nor would I expect it to. However, I find that it does embody some form of exactitude. It is more of an emotional exactitude where one might not see or hear every detail, but instead may be more likely to feel them.

            Sabrina wasn’t particularly flashy or ostentatious, but I found that it was very honest. Those pages contained a distillation of these characters’ emotions in the wake of tragedy and how the internet can put those feelings on blast, making their personal experiences more of a reality show than actual, human experience.