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"FUN HOME"
Author(s): JULIA WATSON
Source: Biography , winter 2008, Vol. 31, No. 1, AUTOGRAPHICS (winter 2008), pp. 27-
58
Published by: University of Hawai'i Press on behalf of Center for Biographical Research
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access to Biography
JULIA WATSON
graphic memoirs, noting how their self-reflexive practices use cartoon draw
ing not only as a form of self-portraiture, but to "engage with the conventions
of comics" ("Autographies" 971). The term "avatars" recalls the new popular
media of unstructured virtual role-playing environments such as SecondLife,
where game players choose visual self-representatives (called avatars), often
quite different from themselves, to play roles and interact in virtual space; as
such, the avatar implies new possibilities for forging identity in autographies.4
The way we read cartoons, as a pleasurable alternative to high serious
ness, also affords occasions for reader identification with characters and situ
ations that solicit our autobiographical intimacy. In commenting on Scott
McCloud's argument about the cartoon as a "vacuum into which our identity
and awareness are pulled," so that instead of just observing the cartoon "we
become it" (36), Whitlock suggests how differently autobiographical practic
es work in this verbal-visual medium (Soft 191). Representation of the artist's
face in particular, she observes, may serve as an icon that elicits identifications
with our own image, thereby changing the reader-viewer experience. And this
process of recognition in cartooning assuredly resonates for the artist-autobi
ographer as well. As Jared Gardner observes, "comics do open up (inevitably
and necessarily) a space for the reader to pause, between the panels, and make
meaning out of what she sees and reads" (791), thereby serving as "collabora
tive texts between the imagination of the author/artist and the imagination
of the reader who must complete the narrative" (800). Fun Home calls upon
readers to be literate in many kinds of texts—not only comics and Modernist
literature but feminist history and lesbian coming-out stories, as well as many
modes of the decorative arts—as a sophisticated and politically impassioned
community.
rr was a vicious circle, though, the more gratification we found in our own
geniuses, the more isolated we grew.
and indeed, if our family was a sort of artists' colony, could ft not be
even more accurately described as a mildly AUTISTIC colony?
*3^ vmxjt
Figure 2. Excerpted from FUN HOME: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel (p. 27 bot
Copyright © 2006 by Alison Bechdel. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Har
Publishing Company. All rights reserved.
the family. The book is dedicated to Bechdel's mother (who, she acknowl
edges, is troubled by its frank revelations) and two younger brothers, with the
caption: "We did have a lot of fun in spite of everything."11 The hardback's
front cover, an elegant color scheme of teal and silver on black, frames themes
of the memoir: a close-up drawing of a tabletop with an embossed silver tray
for calling cards at a funeral home (with cut-outs on the tray's edges reveal
ing the contrasting orange book binding) holds the book's title like a card,
with an endorsement from autographic cartoonist Harvey Pekar ("She's one
of the best") in small white letters at the top. On the back are other early re
view endorsements of the memoir, topped by a drawn photo inside an arch
of the mother and three young children standing in a frame at the other edge
of the table, a kind of funerary photo (which their father is shown taking on
the bottom of page 16). The book's end papers, featuring green-shaded white
chrysanthemums on a silvery teal background, imitate the wallpaper in the
funeral home.12 By contrast, the book-binding, in a vivid light orange, is a
blowup of the panel depicting each family member inside a black-edged bub
ble in different parts of the house, in their paradoxically artistic/autistic self
focus (134). Thus Fun Homes elegant presentation as an artifact invites read
ers inside its decorous exterior for an encounter with its graphic—in both
senses—disclosures about life between the covers.
• Fun Home also maps the splits in cultural views and practices that char
acterized the post-World War II US, torn between the norm of compulsory
heterosexuality that had long coded same-sex desire as "inversion," a clinical
term connoting perversion and moral decadence, and a repressed, smolder
ing consciousness of polymorphous sexuality that erupted in the "gay revolu
tion" of the late sixties and early seventies, with the public protests of Stone
wall (1969) and a flood of manifestoes and coming-out stories that comprise
a counter-archive of modernist reading in the literary world of Fun HomeP
This split between generations is marked in the contrast between her father's
closeted homosexuality, with its elaborate denials and displacements, and Ali
son's coming-of-age story of discovering her own sexuality, awakened in early
childhood by the sight of a "butch" woman and emerging through her exper
iments with a range of lesbian identity positions. The father's and daughter's
contrasting stories anchor the narrative transversals through which Bechdel
interprets the paradoxes of her family, which the form of an extended graphic
memoir, unlike a weekly comic strip, enables her to track in multiple flash
backs and jagged temporalities. As readers, we are asked to trace the complex
narrative arc of her coming of age and/as coming out, enacted in reverse by
her father's covert, furtive liaisons and official heterosexuality.14 Finally, at
the memoir's end the balletic dance of their two narrated stories, in parallels
THE MAN ON THE PREP TABLE WAS BEARPeD AND FLESHY, JARRINGLY UNLIKE DAP'S
USUAL TRAFFIC OF DESICCATED OLD PEOPLE.
Figure 3. Excerpted from FUN HOME: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel (p. 44 top). Copy
right © 2006 by Alison Bechdel. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publish
ing Company. All rights reserved.
and inversions of each other, sutures their sexual kinship—as a legacy both
genealogical and chosen.
• Perhaps the most dazzling visual display of Fun Home is its depiction
of bodies, staged in the "theater" of the morgue. Bechdel's drawings of newly
dead bodies in the process of being embalmed or autopsied, in frontal and
side views with cutaway sections, are a virtuoso Vesalian display (Fig. 3). In
counterpoint to the focus on bodies in rigor mortis are the drawings of erotic
bodies in action, in scenes of her father's and her own sexual encounters. This
begins with the originary scene of sexuality in Chapter 1, drawn from vertigi
nous angles, of a young Alison playing "airplane" hoisted aloft on her father's
legs and hands—what she punningly refers to, in a circus term, as their ac
robatic "Icarian games" (3). As their bodies mirror each other, the erotics of
the father-daughter relationship are visually suggested, as well as the reverse
of the Icarus-Daedalus myth, because it is Alison who will fly on the wings of
homosexual desire that her father never trusted (3-4). The depiction of bodily
erotics extends to graphic sexual depictions of herself—and, in drawn photo
graphs, possibly her father—with lovers, as I will discuss. Fun Home's interplay
between the erotic and the necrotic generates meanings as incarnate—in bod
ies of desire, some positioned as "porn bodies" (viz. 214); bodies performing
gender in costume or drag; bodies in the stillness of a photo or diagram, or the
rigor mortis of death; and, not least, bodies connected to our own as we touch
and turn the pages.
In its histories both personal and political, visual and narrative, Fun Home
offers an archival mine for new kinds of autographical readings. Jared Gard
ner's essay in this issue productively explores the relationship of Fun Home to
"autography," particularly in its relationship to the visual vocabulary of self
reference developed in cartooning practices since 1972. Narrative theorists
such as David Herman also consider Bechdel's use of visual tags or labels
in the frame to mark different temporalities of experience for the narrating
I.15 For feminist autobiography critics such as myself, Bechdel creates a rich
ly complex storytelling world, grounded both in the everyday experience of
mid-twentieth-century American small-town family life and in the feminist
practice of making the personal political through hybrid forms of personal
criticism.16
actual photos are reproduced) as archival documents with the cartooned story
of a remembered—and fantasized—past, we can observe how Bechdel re
interprets the authority that photos as "official histories" seem to hold, and
opens them to subjective reinterpretation. In her focus on varying visual ver
sions of her father and her wildly changing impressions of him (recorded in
her diary) at different moments, Bechdel composes a textured autobiographical
reflection that moves by an ongoing process of her own recursive reading. In
these examples we also see Bechdel's contrast of Second-Wave feminist con
cepts of gendered subjectivity and sexuality (1970s) through which the teen
aged Alison interprets her own experience (at times satirizing the movement's
tendency to jargon-laced, dogmatic pronouncements), to a view, both perfor
mative and genealogical, that she constructs as an alternative way of reading
her own sexuality in relation to—and against—her father's.
I focus on a few points in Fun Home—its middle, end, and beginning—
to think about how its temporal sequence is punctuated by introspective acts
that cast back into the past in spirals of reflection; thus the tendency of the
page to impel us forward in reading the comic as a narrative sequence is re
peatedly disrupted, spatialized. This itinerary for reading Fun Home may seem
perverse, moving from the center of the book to its last page, which I take as
an originary point that—in recursive fashion—returns us to a different read
ing of the drawn photograph with which the book's first chapter begins.17 But
in this narrative so concerned with transversals, the movement toward revers
ing characters' positions as a story develops, and inversions, the traditional
term coding homosexuals as inverts of normative heterosexual identity, we
are asked to read via this to-and-fro movement. Its arc traces the links Bech
del makes between Alison's narrative present and the memories of childhood
that intrude, and the family's repressive past and her own liberatory future.
We follow how her narrative sets up the possibility of both closure—on the
traumatic past of her father's death, probably a suicide—and opening to her
own adult life.
Fun Home, photographing herself as the actor for each subject (parent, child,
etc.). Her acts of impersonation give a new resonance to the autographical, as
she has in a sense literally "tried on" all of the subject positions she depicts—
sometimes wryly, as when she notes on a promotional DVD that she had to
pose for each parent when they had a fight (Chute, "Gothic" 3). We cannot
know to what extent she also literally "inhabited," as a model, the realistically
drawn photographs that figure importantly in her chapter heads, or the pho
tos I discuss that document "secret" intimacies. But her practice suggests ways
in which she empathically—and quite literally—could imagine the positions
of her characters. And while using drawn photos would seem to guarantee the
separate existence of others, Bechdel's technique unsettles that boundary. In a
narrative interested in the permeability of categories of gender and sexuality,
the potential for slipping into "all the poses" in acts of autographical identifi
cation is provocative.
Fun Home incorporates photographs in several ways: as the chapter head
image for each chapter, and at key moments throughout the narrative, where
the act of rereading them—some only discovered after her father's death—is
the impetus to her own acts of recognition and autobiographical identifica
tion with her father's desire embedded in a complicated history of overt het
erosexuality and closeted transgression with young boys. The chapter head
photos are done in a meticulously drawn realistic style, with much shading
and cross-hatching, that differs from her cartooning style. In using photos to
frame its chapters, Fun Home is allied to the family album, but also marks a
distance from its function as official history by reading photos for their trans
gressive content. At strategic moments, photos also offer Alison occasions for
introspection, as she rereads her past to discover untold family stories. And
our spectatorial complicity links us, as viewer-readers, with these acts of look
ing that raise questions about the nature of visual evidence and the possibility
of viewers' empathie recognition.
Chapter 4, "In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower," the middle of Fun
Homes seven chapters, is a key one for thinking about this interplay of fam
ily histories.18 It narrates moments that link Alison's teenaged declaration of
her lesbian sexuality with "secret"—at least to his family—moments from her
father's young adulthood that she discovers only after his death in a box of
photographs. And it offers, via linking their stories of transgressive sexual de
sire to Proust's novels, a framework for reading the narrative not as linear but
as a recursively spiraling story along a "network of transversals." Referencing
Proust's model of convergence as a structure for producing reader recogni
tion of the desires that bond characters in seemingly oppositional social posi
tions, Bechdel parallels their two lives as a gay father and daughter. Wittily
she observes that they are linked not only as sexual "inverts," in the deroga
tory psychoanalytic term of the early century that Proust used (97), but also
as inverted versions of each other in the family. That is, she presents Alison's
rejection of femininity as a compensation for her father's lack of manliness,
and his insistence on her dressing and acting "feminine" as a projection of his
own desire to perform femininity (98).
This and subsequent chapters depict Alison's own adolescent coming of
age as always a coming-out story, and provide a context for imagining the
story her father did not, could not, tell his family, and that, she suggests, fu
eled his artistic obsession with order and design, as well as his authoritarian
parenting. Recalling the several young men who floated through the family's
life, culled from her father's high-school classes and cultivated "like orchids"
(95) for future plucking, Alison recognizes an ideal of masculinity she her
self aspires to. Called "Butch" by her cousins for her tomboy prowess (96),
the young Alison—Al, she would prefer—is critical of her father as a "sissy,"
a version of the identity he attempts to enforce on her (90). Bechdel thus
rereads the surface memoir of her childhood as an analysis of how gender
binaries are sustained within the family. Her father's imposing of conven
tional feminine norms of dress and behavior in the effort to "make a girl of
her" conceals his own story of discovering the feminine within himself and
rejecting the masculine within her. The adult narrator thus frames the nego
tiations by which, within the constraints of the family, father and daughter
displaced onto each other versions of conventional femininity and masculin
ity as a way of enacting their refusal of conventional heteronormative gender
roles. In this version of the coming-out story, there is no simple narrative
of rebellion against parental strictures by transgressive performance; rather,
she and her father are linked in both a contest of wills and a deep affinity of
desires.
The core of Bechdel's coming-of-age/coming-out story occurs in her
recognition that she and her father could meet only at a phantom middle,
a "slender demilitarized zone," in the appreciation of the pubescent male
body as an epitome of androgynous beauty (99). At this evanescent point
the family legacy of desire materializes across generations and genders. A
double-page literal centerfold at the middle of the chapter, and the book,
stages this insight (100-101). It shows a large drawing of a photo recovered
from Bruce's secret stash of photos, dated "AUG 69" (the year blotted out),
of their babysitter Roy that her father took in a hotel room he had arranged
for when the boy was traveling with them on vacation without their moth
er (Alison the eldest was 8).19 The photo of Roy's body as a vulnerable, yet
cheesecake, spectacle is held by the twice-life-sized fingers of a left hand; it
" )lisf *
w--i
i asinr, a ^"c
what's lost in translation is the complexity of loss itself, in the same box
where i found the photo of roy, there's one of dad at about the same age.
2w^,£^hs%v£|ths mb astwgih.whotooktws
BOY WHO t OOK 11 HIS LOVER. ">^1 polarofd of me on a fire
escape on my twenty
first birthday was mine?
.
Figure 6. Excerpted from FUN HOME: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel (p. 120). C
© 2006 by Alison Bechdel. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Pu
Company. All rights reserved.
chapter 1
ARTIFICER PARADISES
The photo on the chapter-head for the first chapter of Fun Home,
Old Artificer," is another drawing from a photo of a much y
Bechdel (Fig. 7). Although there is no explanatory comment for
head photos, they invite our close looking. Here the title phrase is
Stephen Dedalus's entry at the end of Joyce's Portrait of the Arti
Man, an autobiographical novel of coming to artistic consciousness
throughout the memoir.22 Although the photo may not initially
readers, after thinking about the stakes of photographic evidence
4, we may return to look at Bruce with a new understanding of h
bare-chested upper torso, heavy-lidded eyes, and tousled hair (all o
call the photo of Roy) as he stands before the family house. This
actual photo of her father, showing an erotic rather than conventi
parental image, has an almost androgynous uncanniness.23 Alth
would not have had to pose for this drawing, the thin body resembles drawings
of Alison, so that it is possible for viewers to map her body onto his. We begin
to see autographically how the daughter-narrator imaginatively inhabits her
father by a cross-generational act of identification. Not only does she resemble
him, but her drawing traces his photograph and merges his image with her
own, in claiming his artistic and sexual legacy. If for Wordsworth the child
is father to the man, here the daughter links her identity to performing an
act of creative mourning for her dead father. By graphing and authoring the
coming-out narrative he could not tell, Bechdel makes her father's story of
private shame, "perversion," and early violent death into a happier story that
enabled her own embrace of sexuality as their shared "erotic truth." Finally,
this photo tells a story not of artificiality but of artifactual making, a memori
alizing disclosure that moves us in Fun Homes snake-like recursive tale back
to its beginning.
The last page of Fun Home juxtaposes two panels on the page that require
readers to situate ourselves imaginatively as viewers and reflect on our spec
tatorial positions (Fig. 8). The top third is a full frontal close-up of a truck
(Sunbeam Bread) seen from a low angle. It can only be the point of view of a
subject about to be struck, annihilated, a terrifying view of impending death
that is anxiety-producing to confront. The dialogue box superimposed across
the grill refers to Icarus's fall, which Bechdel has just mused about, as a "what
if" that conjoins her reflection on "spiritual paternity" (231) in Joyce (Ulysses
had a better future than his children) and Icarus (if he'd had his father's in
ventiveness, could he have survived?) as modes of the antihero whom both
her father (in a letter [230]) and Stephen Dedalus proclaim themselves to be.
Although I cannot take up the many strands of "erotic truth" that Bechdel
here brings into convergence, clearly the frame of the truck inexorably close
and head-on suggests a brutal finality to life's creativity.
But that graphic is juxtaposed across a narrow gutter without words to
the frame below it, double its size, in which the implacable finality of death
is reinterpreted. It depicts a young Alison, drawn from behind, on the edge
of a diving board, in mid-air over a pool, while her father, arms outstretched,
waits to catch her when she jumps. It captures, as well, Alison's quest to come
of age, come out, and come to truth about the mysteries of her father's life.
And the graphic act of imagining the moment of her father's death, with its
question of why he went back into the road after crossing it, is linked for
teenaged Alison to her guilt that a letter to her parents announcing her com
ing out as a lesbian may have motivated the act as a suicide, prodding her to
Figure 8. Excerpted from FUN HOME: A Family Tragicomicby Alison Bechdel (p. 232). Copyright
© 2006 by Alison Bechdel. Reprinted by permission of Floughton Mifflin Flarcourt Publishing
Company. All rights reserved.
SPEAKING AUTOGRAPHICALLY
Although I have not discussed how Fun Home extensively parallels the
context of Watergate-era Nixonian politics to the climate of repression and
"covert operations" in the Bechdel family home (a topic that Jared Gardner's
essay in this issue explores), its politics of the personal, a foundational feminist
perception, is writ large in two ways: its reframing of homosexuality across
the generations and the sexes, and its situating of sexual desire as a struggle to
assert bodies and pleasures in the face of an American history of pathologizing
them. By interpreting her familial story as a narrative of middle-class Ameri
can family life filtered through the social persecution of dissident artists in the
later twentieth century, Bechdel graphs the personal as a site of struggle for
liberation that has analogs in human rights battles being waged around the
world, particularly for homosexuals and women. Bechdel uses her "autobio
graphical avatars" to induce readers to engage with "othering" practices that
have habitually subjected homosexuals to dismissal and persecution as either
perverse or diseased. Readers engaging with Fun Homes "tricky" narrative se
quence and multiple, disparate modes of self-inscription are brought, by its
recursive autographic strategies, to question the social privileging of norma
tive heterosexuality, as we take up its invitation to put ourselves empathically
in its intimate picture. Holding Fun Home's engaging pages in our hands, we
may occupy unfamiliar reading positions and be brought to reinterpret initial
assumptions, to weigh the apparent authority of archival evidence against the
erotic truth of a repertoire of experiences. Its autographies stirs and persuades
us to approach human histories and bodies in new and provocative ways, as
through the pleasures of humor and cartoons we come to engage affectively
and ethically with the complex, overlapping worlds Fun Home presents.
NOTES
1. The comic strips have been collected into several books, appearing every two years, with
titles such as Hot, Throbbing Dykes to Watch Out For. The bi-weekly syndicated comic
is now posted online at Bechdel's website, where an archive is also available.
8. For example, de Jesús attends to cartoonist Lynda J. Barry's narrative, "The Aswang,"
in which a mythic Filipino vampire-monster becomes a figure for mother-daughter
alienation and a way to think about her own choice of cartooning (12). I am indebted
to de Jesús's concise history of developments in women's comics as part of what Bob
Callahan, editor of The New Comics Anthology, called the "New Comics" (see 2—4).
9. Sidonie Smith and I have characterized the autobiographical interface as the space at
which diverse media of visual and verbal self-construction intersect to register the sub
jectivity of the maker, whether or not a traditional self-portrait is discernable (Watson
and Smith 5-7).
10. Jared Gardner sees the "archival turn" (788) as distinctive of contemporary comics,
noting that "archives are everywhere in the contemporary graphic novel. . . archives of
the forgotten artifacts and ephemera of American popular culture" (787). Part of the
pleasure for comic book readers and collectors, he argues, is this visual assemblage of
drawn fragments of old comics and ephemera. Bechdel is an archiver of both family
memorabilia and the larger history of Second Wave feminist texts, sayings, and styles.
11. In an interview with Hillary Chute, Bechdel acknowledged that her mother, after giving
her letters and photos for Fun Home and initially finding the project amusing, changed
her view of it: "She felt betrayed—quite justifiably so—that I was using things she'd told
me in confidence about my father" (1006). But her mother, a "mixed-message person,"
also gave her a further box of letters between the parents (1007). She reiterated her moth
er's discomfort with the project at a lecture on October 29, 2007, at the Ninth Festival
of Cartoon Art sponsored by the Cartoon Library, Ohio State University, in Columbus,
Ohio. In the Chute interview Bechdel acknowledged the ethical issue her project raised,
stating "This memoir is in many ways a huge violation of my family" (1009). While that
sense of betrayal may remain for the family, I argue that Fun Home also serves as a bequest
(to borrow Nancy K. Miller's title), specifically in memorializing her father after his death
by contextualizing his covert pedophiliac acts, and identifying his desire with her own
and with a long-repressed and persecuted history of homosexuality in the US.
Bechdel's fastidious attention to detail is evident not only in the careful drawing and
coloring of the wallpaper, but in the concern she expressed to Hillary Chute (and also in
the lecture I heard in Columbus) that her drawing and coloring did not entirely capture
the wallpaper, which she identified as William Morris's "Chrysanthemums": "I didn't
get enough contrast in [the wallpaper], I've since learned that there are eleven shades of
green in the original—and I was only using five different shades" (1008).
For an extensive and erudite discussion of the climate of twentieth-century repression of
homosexuality, see Jennifer Terry's An American Obsession, particularly the chapter on
"The United States of Perversion."
Ken Plummer defines the coming-out story as a "Modernist tale" that proliferates in the
later twentieth century. Its hallmarks are "a frustrated, thwarted and stigmatized desire
for someone of one's own sex . . . it stumbles around childhood longings and youthful
secrets; it interrogates itself, seeking 'causes' and 'histories' that might bring 'motives'
and 'memories' into focus; it finds a crisis, a turning point, an epiphany; and then it en
ters a new world—a new identity, born again, metamorphosis, coming out" (52). For a
brilliant discussion of genres and examples of American feminist coming-out stories, see
Martin. For her, the coming-out story asserts a mimetic relationship between experience
and writing, and centers its narrative on the declaration of sexuality as both discovered
and always already there. Such narratives are also a quest for a language of feeling and
desire that will "name their experience woman identification" (88). Both Plummer and
Martin, in emphasizing the narration of sexual identity, see it as a positional, rather than
fully stable, identity.
At the academic "Graphic Narrative Conference" at Ohio State University on October
25, 2007, narratologist David Herman gave a provocative talk on identity construction
in graphic narratives that explored Bechdel's use of graphic tags as a means of disrupting
the Bildungsroman's linear model of self-narration.
Sidonie Smith and I discuss "personal criticism" as an important autobiographical prac
tice of writing the "I" that redirects critical attention to the critic's praxis as a form of
feminist pedagogy (see Smith and Watson 32-33, 36-37).
Bechdel observed to Chute in the interview that the photographs at the beginning of
each chapter "feel particularly mythic to me, [they] carry a lot of meaning" (1009).
Bechdel glosses this chapter title as À l'Ombre des Jeunes Filles in Fleurs, a translation
of the second volume of Proust's In Search of Lost Time. And the chapter offers an ex
tended gloss upon Proust's oeuvre, noting how the apparently opposed paths, literal and
metaphoric, of Swann and the Guermantes are revealed to "have always converged" in
the course of the novels as a model of how its "vast network of transversals" works to
undermine apparent binaries (102). Although Bechdel told Chute "I never actually read
all of Proust; I just skimmed and took bits that I needed," using the novel as a metatext
gives her a grid within which to map the apparent opposition and deep connection
that she experienced with her father while growing up, and that forms the basis of their
homosexual affinity ("Interview" 1005).
19. In the Chute interview, Bechdel asserts that "photographs really generated the book,"
discussing in particular this snapshot (1005) and calling it literally "the core of the
book, the centerfold" (1006). She further states, "I felt this sort of posthumous bond
with my father, like I shared this thing with him, like we were comrades" (1006).
20. On theorizing the matrilineal bond, see especially the work of Carol Gilligan and Nancy
Chodorow, and the useful discussion of their studies by Susan Stanford Friedman.
21. My thanks to Sarah Carnahan in a graduate seminar at OSU, Winter 2008, for inquir
ing about the rationale for Bechdel's use of this highly conventional style of cartooning
for this two-page sequence.
22. "[26 April] Welcome O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of ex
perience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race. [27
April] Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead" (253). Notably,
although the words of the Joycean phrase are the first chapter title in Fun Home, only
at the comic's end do we understand their full implications. Commenting on Bechdel's
extensive use of Joyce's Ulysses, a book she was required to read in college but remembers
resenting, Hillary Chute observes that Alison and her father "figure various Joycean
characters," each occupying the position of Bloom and Stephen at various times; and
Bechdel's observations on Ulysses come just before Fun Homes final page, in which they
also exchange the positions of Icarus and Daedalus in the myth ("Gothic" 4).
23. Bechdel showed this photo of her father Bruce during her talk on the book at the Ninth
Festival of Cartoon Art at the Cartoon Library, Ohio State University, on October 27,
2007.
24. See my discussion of the final painting of Charlotte Salomon's Life or Theater?, where
the title of her work is inscribed across her back, which faces the viewer as the artist
gazes out toward the Mediterranean, where she painted in exile. That visual inscription
embodies her story in the artistic "I" she created as no verbal narrative could. I argue
that "in merging her persona with the artist-autobiographer, making herself through
the work, Salomon enacts the creation of [her] 'name'" (417). Like Bechdel, Salomon
narrates a story of becoming the person who could inhabit, tell, and depict the story
viewers have just encountered—in 789 non-consecutive pages, in Salomon's case.
25. Louis Menand's remark about biography as a form is suggestive: "All biographies are
retrospective in the same sense. Though they read chronologically forward, they are
composed essentially backward" (66). That is, the events that the subject became re
nowned for determine what the biographer selects to interpret as formative. A difference
of autobiography from biography may lie in the nature of the interpreter's recognition.
26. Hillary Chute also describes Fun Home as "recursive" ("Gothic" 2).
WORKS CITED
Olney, James. Metaphors of Self: The Meaning of Autobiography. Princeton: Princeton UP,
1972.