Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
Why so low? I guess I’m a contrarian bastard.
If I can be honest for a bit, this is one of “those” graphic novels. No, that’s not a thinly-veiled racist thing. What I mean is, there are those graphic novels that are approved for adult use and those that aren’t.
I can give you some tips for recognizing these types of books.
Does it have superpowers? Then it’s probably not one of the acceptable ones.
Do most of the images lack backgrounds? Then it’s probably cool.
Does it feature someone who experienced a somewhat positive effect from radiation exposure? Then it’s probably not.
Does someone come of age over the course of a single book as opposed to, oh, 50 years or so? Then it might be acceptable.
Bewbs in bewb window? No.
Bare breasts? Yes.
Distant space travel? No.
Dead Russian dog who was like barely in space? Yes.
Does a discussion of continuity come in? No.
Environmental issues? Yes.
Environmental issues as pondered by Swamp Thing? No.
Did you hear about it on NPR? Yes.
Did you hear about it from a blog with a name like “Dollar Issues and Longboxes and Spinner Racks?” No.
Does the author or illustrator have a cool haircut? Yes.
Does the author or illustrator have loud-ass shirts that his wife makes for him? No.
You get the idea.
What I mean is, Persepolis is the book that a lot of people jump to after Maus. Because it’s a safe jump. It’s an important book that discusses real life shit, and for someone who doesn’t like comics, the content is serious-minded enough to overcome the medium. It’s a good jump to make, but I hope people are making a third jump after that, and a fourth, and by the time they’re done, I hope they’re seeing that comics, the medium, the format, aren’t inherently one thing or another. Saying you can only tell one type of story in a medium is silly.
My beef with Persepolis isn’t really its audience, though. Because I think that’s fair. I’m a person who really enjoys Fight Club, so you have to accept that there’s an audience for a thing and there’s the thing itself, and you don’t have to agree with both.
Here’s the thing. I don’t have the best memory in the world. That’s putting it very lightly. But I don’t have any strong memories of specific scenes or moments from Persepolis. I remember things from comics, things form X-Men or Spider-Man or Preacher or other books. But Persepolis, in my memory, is a pleasant, well-crafted blur.
I’ll grant that it’s been a long time, and I could totally give this another shot. Although, really, I should read one of Satrapi’s other books, methinks.
Maybe it’s like, there are times you walk out of a movie and you’re not sure how you feel. And then it’s two days later and you’re still thinking about it. That tells me there’s something. Maybe I didn’t quite grasp it, or maybe it wasn’t done perfectly, but there was something of value there. Something that grabbed onto a part of my brain and won’t let it rest.
Then there are movies that kinda don’t do that. I liked Avengers 2, but a couple months later, I didn’t really remember much of anything. I haven’t made any effort to see it again.
I guess Persepolis is like Avengers 2 to me. Which is probably something nobody else has said, ever, because it’s a profoundly stupid thing to say. But there you go.
If someone wants to use that for a cover blurb, be my guest. And just say I’m Joss Whedon. People listen to that dude.