Reading comics, as much as researching, teaching or creating them, is inherently a learning experience, driven by the multi-layered and complex questions and problems posed not just by the stories, but by the formal operations of the medium itself. The textural qualities of comics, their particular aesthetic and verbal strategies through which their stories are conveyed, frequently articulate detailed and counter-historical stories that embed a pedagogical mission within their pages. The complex and nuanced construction of comics places a creative ‘burden’ on readers as they bring a range of visual-verbal references and associations to support their interpretation of the text. As Dundee comics lecturer Golnar Nabizadeh has noted: But if comics are mirrors, they are also riddles, engaging the reader in debates about the world and allowing them to examine their own feelings about things.įrom Little Nemo in Slumberland to Batman and Calvin and Hobbes, comics teach us, and help us teach ourselves, about what it means to be human. In one way or another, comics have always been with us, whether scrawled on ancient cave walls, springing from the “ Funnies” sections of newspapers, or lighting up our phones on daily commutes. The medium is highly effective at holding a mirror up to the reader. Comics pose questions for the reader not just about what they understand and what they take from a comic, but also what they bring to a comic. This points to something that most comics scholars can agree on: there is an enormous and little understood power to the way comics communicate meaning, and particularly how they engage the reader in ways that can teach them about themselves. And this is before we even tackle issues of individual artistic style and the unique visual language, or accent, that each comic presents. Several panels – and therefore different moments in time – are presented simultaneously on a page, requiring the reader to develop a system for understanding how each page and each comic communicates meaning at a formal level. Little Nemo in Slumberland, the tale of a boy who has nightly adventures in his dreams, from 1906. As comics scholar Charles Hatfield once proclaimed, it is the “art of tensions”. The relationship between word and image, the sequence of panels on a page, and the non-linear nature of the reading experience all engage the reader in unique and challenging ways. To read a comic is to engage in an act of play and problem solving. The medium is mercurial, alive, and invites the reader (and scholar) to engage in debate. The study of comics is permeable and fluid, and long may it remain so. Read more: Seven comics with vital things to say about humanity The debate is lively, exciting and exhilarating. There are few orthodoxies to restrict, and certainly none to respect. In such a diverse field, everything is up for grabs.
And yet another definition will probably emerge from that discussion, fuelling the ongoing debate about the nature of the medium.įar from being embarrassed about the difficulty of defining their object of study, comics scholars revel in it. The emerging field of comics studies continues to wrestle with the central question, “What is a comic?” Put ten comics scholars in a room and that question will come up pretty quickly, with ten different ideas all vying with one another.
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