Note from Steve:
The second letter of mine that Dave answers in "Collected Letters" was hand-written, and I do not have an actual copy of what I sent him. I do, however, have two drafts, having initially composed it on the computer and having written it out by hand to make it more personal. I almost certainly changed a few things as I did, because I do that, but this should be very much like what Dave received.
One set-up note: this letter was written more-or-less immediately after the appearance of issue #288, where the person Cerebus had been telling "Latter Days" to was revealed.
May 4, 2003
(Dave's actual letter was dated May 5)
Dear Dave,
Wow!
Who the hell is that?
Sorry it took me so long to get around to writing this, but I haven't been silent about the last issue on the Yahoo Cerebus group.
I think the existence of the group, combined with the non-existence these days of "Aardvark Comment," is one big reason why you're not getting letters. Traditionally, comic book creators have gotten a lot more fan mail than, say, novelists. But at least part of that has been the possibility of having a letter printed, with not only its attendant ego-boo, but more importantly the chance to share your opinions, insights, etc. with other fans. Now, to do that last part, all I need to do is fire up the computer and log onto Yahoo.
There's been a lot of discussion about a) whether or not this is Jaka herself, somehow magically unaged (the general consensus is no, but there are a few holdouts), b) a descendant of Jaka's, or c) some evil trick of Yoohwhoo's. Most of us are leaning toward (c), seeing as how this is the last year and this is the beginning of the end for the
little gray guy.
As soon as I read #288, I simply HAD to go back and reread all of "Latter Days" so far -- I can't even wait for the Yahoo Cerebus Group Parashah Reread (which just finished up "Fall and the River," so it's not like it would be that long). I'm about halfway through, but I'll hold off on comments about that 'till I'm done.
We've been rereading "Fall and the River" in the group, and unlike the first two times (once in the monthly comics, once when the collection came out), this time I read the whole thing straight through without once referring to "Chasing Scott." I think it stands on its own without the annotations better than From Hell, does, which I wasn't
sure of.
This is not a knock against "From Hell," simply an observation that its annotations are as much a part of the work as T.S. Eliot's annotations are intrinsic to "The Waste Land," while yours are more in the way of additional material that a reader may find useful or
interesting, but are not necessary to a basic understanding or appreciation of even most of the fine nuances and subtleties in the story -- though it may certainly make it easier to apprehend them.
So now I'm rereading "Chasing Scott" as a single piece, instead of as a series of footnotes, ironically using the pages of "Fall and the River" referred to as footnotes. I think it's proof that if you had a slightly different set of mental habits and did not have any skill or interest in drawing, you probably would have made a serviceable, perhaps even a distinguished, literary critic. I know this may not be received as a compliment, given the almost universal disdain for critics among creators, but the fact is that the best critics are themselves creators. Some of them, like Matthew Arnold and T.S. Eliot, combine the two in such a way that not only is their literary criticism as finely crafted and pleasurable to read as the prose style of the novelists of their day, but also their more obviously "artistic" output is infused with their critical opinions and influences.
You've always been in the second category, and criticism -- in the best sense of the word, not the caustic negativity often implied but the sense of understanding and analyzing something -- of comics history and the contemporary comic book scene has always been a part of Cerebus. With "Chasing Scott," it seems to me, that in the guise of footnotes to a work that is itself that second kind of criticism-through-art you also display a capacity and perhaps even an affinity for the critical essay form.
It's true the proceedings often get derailed into your more familiar and congenial essay form: the polemic. You have axes to grind, and that's understandable -- indeed, the whole point of "Chasing Scott," of using Fitzgerald in this part of Cerebus' story, of this part of
the story itself, and therefore of the entirety of "Fall and the River," is bound up in the philosophies and political stances so many regard as "misogynistic" (I'll just say I don't think the term fits you, but that I disagree with much -- though not quite all -- that you
have to say on the subject, and we'll leave it at that, at least for now, OK?), and to "descend" into polemic on the subject is as natural as breathing and not, in your opinion, any "lower" than the supposedly higher level of discourse involved in, say, discussing Fitzgerald's inability to write about a hero other than himself.
And you're right, as far as it goes, and especially in terms of this particular essay and its particular place within the greater work that is Cerebus. But it is also the same tone you use for most of your essays, and one of the most pleasurable things, for me, about "Chasing Scott" is that I can enjoy long passages of well-connected and well thought-out prose that display your incisive intelligence without the overheated polemic -- which can be wicked fun even when I disagree with it, but on the other hand is to some extent disagreeable even when I agree with it, if you know what I mean. It's not that I don't
like it so much that I enjoy seeing proof (not that any were necessarily needed) that you can write well in other modes as well.
Anyway, one thing "Chasing Scott" has done that my previous two readings of "Fall and the River" did not do is make me determined to read, at the very least, "The Beautiful and Damned" and probably everything I can get my hands on by and about F. Scott Fitzgerald. For whatever reason, the first two times through -- and even the third time through "Fall and the River" -- didn't do that to me. But now you've got me hooked.
In case you decide to answer this (or restore "Aardvark Comment" and print it), I've got a question: way back in Guys, when Cerebus had a vision of he and a female (and the group argued for months whether or not it was Astoria and never came to a consensus, which I'm sure you regard as a good thing) going to the cabin in "Sand Hills Creek," when he looked in the window, in the reflection his missing ear was on the wrong side of his head. Later, when he had the dream that his other ear was cut off, the bandage in the mirror was similarly on the wrong side. Several people in the group pointed out these discrepancies as evidence that these were "visions" or "dreams" and not reality.
BUT, when it came time for Cerebus and Jaka to actually reach the cabin, Cerebus looks in the window and . . . HIS MISSING EAR IS ON THE WRONG SIDE!!!
My guess, expressed on the list at the time the of the first vision in Guys, was that you actually put the missing ear on the wrong side deliberately because most people wouldn't think about the mirror reversal, and would feel like the missing ear was on the wrong side
even though it wasn't, and those of us who are obsessive about our Cerebus have been taken in by an artist's trick intended to not draw attention to the ear by those who read their comics in a more ordinary fashion.
So, am I right? Or is there some deeper meaning involved here? If the first two were signals that the vision and the dream weren't real, what does that say about the trip to the cabin with Jaka?
AND WHO IS THAT WOMAN?????!!!!!
DOESN'T CEREBUS REALIZE THIS IS A TRAP??!!!?!?!?!?!!
Sincerely,
Steve Bolhafner
