Susie Cagle was teargassed yesterday, ducked on the sidewalk in an attempt to avoid rubber bullets from police weapons. The cartoonist has spent much of her past week camped out at Occupy Oakland, gathering fodder for an illustrated history of the movement (one you can help fund here, if so inclined), and by sheer presence, becoming a part of the event.

We managed to grab a few moments of her time ahead of this evening’s events to discuss the movement,  objectivity, and what it means to be a graphic journalist.

You were hit with pepper spray yesterday?

I think it was tear gas. I videoing while it was happening [above]. They tried to prevent this peaceful march from going to the police department. And they wanted to protest outside, because there are still 100 protestors locked in that jail. And instead of letting people let off some steam and chant and yell, the police employed some crazy tactics of running to the front of wherever the march was and making a line and blocking the street and pushing the protesters down another road where they would block the line. It was very confusing—it was a march of about 1,000 people, maybe more.

That many people don’t fit on a block. So, to try to maneuver and turn around, to try to push back out is a big production. It was during one of those that they tried to push us back in. There were 1,000 marchers coming up against, maybe, six cops. I’m sure they were terrified, so they called for backup and a dozen police in full riot gear ran in with guns raised and batons swinging, and just let loose wildly against this small street.

They’re tear gassing in there, and it’s all getting trapped by the buildings on either side. I really didn’t want to get shot, so, as soon as I saw them raising the guns, I just dropped to the ground. The whole time I was on the sidewalk, I was pressed up against the building. They started tossing flash grenades and tear gas canisters onto the sidewalk. I was standing with people who had just come out of their business to see what was happening, and they were attacked.

As I crouched down to protect myself, a teargas canister rolled right under my face and exploded.

How are your eyeballs?

I’m okay. Anonymous has medics—“Anon Medics.” And this guy in a gas mask pulled me out of there and washed my face. It was amazing. It’s not something I’d ever encountered before.

This is not dissuading you from going back today, I assume.

No, not at all. That’s what they want. The fact that they specifically told press to leave last night at 7:45 and then after that, there were four more hours of tear gas and grenades… A lot of press did leave, but I think we have an obligation to witness that.

Did you encounter other media after that point?

I did. I saw two news vans around. Normally when the news vans are around, they’ll pop out real quick to get something and then go back in the van. But I ran into a bunch of newspaper reporters. It seemed like they were spending more time in protests and having an easier time being accepted and talking to people. I ran into a bunch of local media who were pretty freaked out. I’ll be curious if they go back. I hope they do.

Are you presenting yourself as media?

Yeah, yeah. It’s a weird thing, but I think that’s the most appropriate thing to do. If I weren’t a member of the press, I would be protesting. But I’m more valuable to the Occupy movement as a member of the press than as a demonstrator.

People think that I’m a protestor, and when you’re out there, you kind of have to look like one, because you have to cover your mouth with scarf for the teargas. So everyone kind of looks the same and is being attacked the same.

So you don’t consider yourself a protestor, since you’re there as media? Is it possible to be both?

I think I’d maybe consider myself an activist-journalist. But I think if I say that I’m a protestor and that I’m explicitly part of this occupation, then that doesn’t give me as much credibility.

You’re throwing any semblance of objectivity out the window.

Totally. But I kind of feel like I already have. I don’t really believe in objectivity anyway, so that’s not really too troubling to me. I was going there for the last two weeks, but I wasn’t sleeping there. I was kind of on the fence about it. I have been working on a piece. My plan was to file my piece this coming Monday and then join the camp.

With what’s happening now, I think I’m more worthwhile to the occupation as somebody who’s working to document it. I think that’s a popular tact amongst the occupation. There are a lot of people doing citizen journalism there.

Is this a comics piece that you’re working on?

Yeah. It’s going to have to be totally different now. It was going to be a five-part piece about how different Occupy Oakland is from the rest of the occupation. When the camp was up, it was very different. They were primarily concerned with creating this functional mini-city, rather than doing focused protests and actions, which is very different than the other ones. They spent more time trying to figure out how to feed everyone and building a kids’ area, and a library and a community garden. That’s what they were spending their time on.

Is your process generally the same as a print journalist? You’re going in and interviewing people?

Mm-hm. I’ve been doing a lot of sketches, the past couple of weeks, so that’s different. I probably won’t use them for the final piece, but they’re character studies. I do sketches and take pictures of things on my phone for reference. In the last day and a half, I haven’t been doing any drawings, because that’s not so realistic out there.

The interviews are largely with protesters? Or are you able to speak with members of the establishment?

I haven’t been able to get in touch with the Oakland police department. Certainly you can’t talk to police while they’re down there—actually, I spoke with one really, really, unusually friendly officer, who gave me a little information on background.

Suspiciously friendly?

No, no. Those are the undercover cops that are in the protest—and there are definitely some of those.

Today I got in contact with Mayor Jean Quan’s office. But they haven’t answered my questions. I’m sure she’s being barraged with hate. I thought if I seemed nice and non-threatening, I could get through. And it seemed to totally work.

Do you tell people that you’re working on a comic when you approach them as a member of the media? Does that decrease the chance of compliance?

I don’t use the word “comics.” I’m very careful about that. I depends on how much time I have to explain it, because I figure that it takes at least 20 seconds to make it make sense, and if I don’t have that time, I should just write down whatever. But if I explain it as, “I’m doing art and a story and I’ll put them together. It’s kind of like comics,” and people are like, “okay.”

But the Bay Area has such a history of underground comics, and there’s a huge overlap between the Occupy movement and self-publishing/zinesters. And I know the people who run Infoshop are down there. I’ve been talking to them. They love comics. And they were excited to hear that it would be a comic.

–Brian Heater

We all knew it was a possibility, certainly, but I don’t think any of us really expected it to happen — I know I certainly didn’t. After asking cartoonists to recommend their favorite Sparkplug titles (which we continue to whole-heartedly recommend, of course), we got a note from Dylan Williams’ close friend, cartoonist Tom Neely, letting us know that Williams was doing well, was in good spirits, and was genuinely touched by the outpouring of support and love directed toward him and Sparkplug. And besides, Williams had already tackled this before, and was seemingly stronger before it.

Most of us heard the news on Saturday night, as many of our friends and colleagues were prepping for the Ignatz awards, a celebration of the industry to which he’d devoted his life — an event it no doubt pained Williams to have to skip. And despite all the evidence, disbelief was my first reaction, finding out the news in Twitter of all places.

There’s just not enough space to list the reasons why Williams was important and well-loved–in an industry so fueled by internal drama, it’s hard nearly impossible to find someone who’s managed to come out of the relentless gossip unscathed, but I can honestly say that, in all of my years in comics, I’ve never heard a negative word spoken about Dylan Williams. He was, so far as I can tell, universally loved in this world. Williams devoted his life to alternative comics and his love for the medium shone through some of the most important indie titles of the past decade and projects like the Portland Zine Symposium.

Williams seemed a perpetual positive character both at shows and through all of our interactions online as a supporter of what we do here, and, as evidenced by Neely’s note, it was a positivity that Williams carried with him until his much too early end.

Baffled by how to approach such a loss, I reached out to some mutual friends (Williams had plenty of those), asking for stories and remembrances to help us drive home just how important he was to all of us and the community we love. There was, not surprisingly, an outpouring of grief on the subject — also not surprising is the fact that many folks are still processing the whole thing and attempting to figure out how to address the matter. We’ve collected a few responses below, plus memorials from cartoonists’ personal blogs.

And for those still looking for the right words, we’ll continue to build out the list for as long as people have additions. Please add your own in the comments below.

–BH

Leigh Walton: I only interacted with Dylan a little – when I did, of course, he was always helpful & kind. I find myself shocked, wishing I had connected with him more, humbled by the love that binds together our indie comics family, and determined to try to live up to Dylan’s example and be for others what he clearly was for so many people. We’re all so lucky to be a part of this. Dylan, rest in peace.

Tom Hart: Dylan was super generous to me when I was starting my school. He gave me a lot of advice from his experience at IPRC and was very enthusiastic on my behalf. He also published great great books and I am deeply sad about losing him.

Minty Lewis

Damien Jay

John Porcellino

Theo Ellsworth

Elijah Brubaker

Sarah Oleksyk

Landry Walker

Gabby Schulz

Austin English

I wasn’t even supposed to be here today—not in this city, not in this country. I had big plans for staging a Read Comics in Public Day photo at Newark Airport, or maybe in a plane over the Atlantic on the way to Berlin. We’ll all have to settle for the above shot taken atop a table in a bagel shop in Astoria, Queens. But even with that pang of disappointment in mind, there’s something oddly romantic about the concept of reading comics at the end of the world.

The worst of Irene has passed over us, but it’s still ominous out there, all windy and gray and wet, pieces of trees in the street and the fronts of numerous stores still taped and boarded. The subways are still blocked off, so there’s not a lot of opportunity to leave my neighborhood, so for today’s second annual RCiPD, it was just me, an everything bagel, and a copy of D&Q’s upcoming Daybreak collection—an appropriate choice, given the chaos outside.

Images of the event have been pouring in all day, and from the looks of it, our friends across the globe have been faring much better than us. We’ve received submissions from Germany, Brazil, the Philippines, all over the US, and more. And we’re expecting the images to keep coming in, as the day progresses, given the tremendous feedback we’ve seen with the countless planned meetups.

I’ve pulled a few favorites from today’s event (so far). Please check them out, after the break. And a special thanks to Wired, USA Today, Comics Alliance, and all the other countless people and publications who have spread the word this year.

-BH

We need Dylan Williams. Over the past several years, his work has become as vital to our community as that of any cartoonist. His Portland-based Sparkplug Comics has brought a parade of talent across our periphery, debuting books by artists that may well have never gotten their due from the larger independent publishing house — and that’s only one aspect of his role in the greater comics community.

And now, sadly, for reasons outlined by Sarah, Dylan Williams need us. Doing what you love doesn’t also afford one a large safety net, and now, after he’s given us so much, it’s time for us to give a little back. Doing so is as simple as buying some books from his site. You get comics, you help a friend. Sounds like a good deal to us.

In the off-chance that you need a little more convincing, we’ve asked some our favorite artists to recommend one of their favorite Sparkplug books for you to add to your cart. Not surprisingly, many had trouble picking just one — a plight we can certainly appreciate. We will be adding cartoonists’ favorites for as long as they keep coming in.

Box Brown: I love the Reich series and all of David King’s books.  Eschew 1 and 2 by Robert Sergel are fantastic.  Sergel’s drawings would be perfect for “how-to” instructional illustrations.  Just some damn fine cartooning.

Austin English: Sausage Hand by Andrew Smith. This book has so much of what I love about comics—Smith’s characters change in shape and size and emotion as the story unfolds. It’s cruel, violent and funny without being ’satire’ or ‘absurdist.’ Rather, it is what it is—a short, black and white comic about an odd character.

Edie Fake: Reporter #1 is our first glimpse of Willoughby, but instead of being straight up small-town tales, this issue winds stories around stories. The structure gives me some flashes of Ice Haven, but this town is a whole different beast, and Williams’ comics are earnest and clear. Issue #2 of Williams’  starts seriously braiding the characters around each other. This time uptight Ivar, the private documentarian, falls in with Felicia Frame who secretly lives in one of the town’s abandoned buildings. Mystery brewings begin here, and the feeling is in the air that things are about to get complicated.

Annie Murphy’s Xeric Award-winning I Still Live is a powerhouse of a comic, delving into the life and times of 19th Century Spiritualist, Achsa Sprague, and channeling a merging of political activism with spiritual openness, something that can easily be forgotten in an era plagued with apathies. The book deftly weaves the past into the present and reminds us of the undercurrents of magical truth that nourish our logical minds behind the scenes. Best of all worlds.

Jin an Jam is a head-on collision of California 2 Cool 4 School and Tekkon Kinkreet. -Yeah, it really is that good. Hellen Jo’s drawings are perfect and her action-packed San Jose misfit tween girl rampage fights dirty the whole way through. It’s an impeccable tornado of an issue and if you come out with a black eye and gum in your hair, you’ll consider yourself lucky.

Wow, after a long hard journey, Gay Genius has finally come out, and it’s a complete force. It’s a queer comics anthology I feel totally honored to be part of and have been raving about to anyone who will listen. Completely QUILTBAG, humming around the theme of history, these comics are as visually lush as they are diverse in style and perspective. It’s a vision of queer legacy that both honors and complicates ancestry, identity, community and family, not to mention that the work here also challenges the traditional boundaries of what  (and who) constitutes “comics”. Xeric-winning editor Annie Murphy has created a lovely and conversational  rhythm between the direct and abstract narratives of the book.

Minty Lewis: Okay, so I haven’t actually purchased/read it myself yet, but I am so, so excited about Passage by Tessa Brunton. I’ve been enjoying her funny and fun-to-look-at minicomics for years and am so glad that Sparkplug is finally bringing her work to the big screen. People would be foolish not to buy Passage, just foolish.

Dustin Harbin: I have written a lot about my love for David King’s Lemon Styles, which came out last year. I can’t stop talking about it; not content with writing about it as one of my three favorite books of 2010, I interviewed David, just so I could talk about it a little more. Besides being extraordinarily good-looking cartooning, just in terms of craft, execution, and surface appeal, David’s approach to the underlying elements of comics is deceptively complex. While each comic is its own piece–even the short train story in Lemon Styles can be read as a series of almost haiku-like short pieces–it’s how they’re set that gives them a lot of their power. They exist as itchy almost-portraits of a pseudo-time, at once current and anachronistic, warm and off-putting. To me David King is one of the few–and I mean very few–cartoonists working today who is utilizing the unique medium of comics to say something that truly could not be said elsewhere. Or at least could not be said with the same grace, poise, and irascible cleverness.

Tom Neely: Austin English’s The Disgusting Room is possibly the greatest example of “art comix” ever created.

Chris Cilla is a national treasure. Everything he draws turns to gold… The Heavy Hand is a masterpiece.

David King is a cranky jerk, but I love his comics more than I love my yet-to-be-born children.

I only hope that someday I will create something as amazing as John Hankiewicz’s Asthma.

I could go on and on…

Eric Reynolds: My favorite thing Dylan has ever done, despite publishing a world class lineup of great contemporary comics, is his defunct EIGHTY-SIX zine, devoted to great comics and cartoonists of the past. It is one of my favorite zines of all time, a real treasure trove of gems from guys like Jesse Marsh, Lyonel Feininger, Ogden Whitney, Gluyas Williams, Mort Meskin, etc. Dylan is not just an asset to comics as a publisher and distributor but also as a historian and critic. He’s just a huge asset to comics.

Jim Rugg: Tales to Demolish #3 by Eric Haven. The entire series is awesome, but I’d highly recommend this one for fans of Dan Clowes’ Death Ray and/or Michael Kupperman’s work. It’s a funny, entertaining, well-drawn take on the superhero genre.

–BH

Brian Heater turns 30 years old today.

You know Brian Heater, our Editor in Chief. Among other things, he’s also the guy who writes about your shows, reviews your books, runs your festival programming, DJs your parties, tweets so you’ll laugh, asks about your legacy with comics, creates awesome podcasts you should hear — only awesome things, basically — and so much of what he puts into the world is free to enjoy.

He’s a pretty generous and amazing human being actually.

Awhile back, we briefly discussed a funny idea for a con sketchbook he had: Coin operated kiddie rides often found outside of supermarkets. I could see then that the idea had potential, certainly. Immediately it brought to mind creepy horses and cute spaceships.

It also got me thinking: Even if Brian was the kind of dude who would pass around a sketchbook at a con (not likely) he probably wouldn’t have time to shop it around, being busy 110% of the time with interviews and everything else. So here’s a small attempt to seed a sketchbook for him that may never get a chance to be complete.

I asked some of our favorite artists to contribute to this special surprise birthday post for Brian, and they delivered big time. Some drew their own version of these machines while others drew what I can only hope to assume are portraits of the man himself — plus inside jokes.

As the drawings rolled in, and after some reflection, kiddie rides to me felt like a weirdly perfectly idea to come along at just the right time for this purpose. As Tom Hart puts it in his gift to Brian, “ride the ride, pal!”

Brian’s next 30 years are sure to surprise and delight us all, so here’s to one of the nicest guys in comics: Happy Birthday, Brian Heater!

Box Brown:

Jordan Shiveley:

David Lloyd:

Nick Bertozzi:

Rick Parker:

Jeffrey Brown:

Edie Fake:

Lupi McGinty:

J.T. Yost:

Tom Hart:

Jamie Tanner:

– Sarah Morean

I almost let this one get away from me entirely. Blame the 12-hour days at the new job or the fact that I’m still in convention decompression mode, weeks after the end of MoCCA Fest. Whatever the case, I’d somehow missed all of the notes about the upcoming Fresh Meat event, including the ones posted in Dispatches on our own site, caught completely off-guard until the afternoon of, when Heidi MacDonald sent me an e-mail, asking if we’d be reprising our annual tradition of an SVA meetup, followed by a turkey at the diner across the street.

I balked at the suggestion, having largely eschewed social engagements over the past couple of weeks, as I attempt to adjust to a new work schedule, but it was clear too, that I’d regret blowing off the event altogether, in favorite of getting to sleep at an early hour on a Friday. For one thing, there’s an irresistible appeal in the notion of discovering a promising artist’s work in its earliest state, the rough photocopied minis of some future Fantagraphics or Drawn & Quarterly rock star, and Manhattan’s School of Visual Arts certainly has proven track record of churning out top names in the industry.

There’s also a lot to be said for show largely devoid of the trappings that define the majority of comics conventions—like the costumes that have even managed to worm their way into some of the more indie-focused show. Sure, there are affectations aplenty at SVA’s annual open house—the gentleman lounging with sleep masks on a foldout couch behind their table comes to mind—this is an art school, after all, but there’s no semblance of commercialism beyond the simple fact of young artists attempting to get some small sum in exchange for their handmade products.

And besides, all of the city’s face paint was apparently monopolized by the lines of Juggalos lined up for the Insane Clown Posse show being held at the Blender Theater, two blocks away, an obstacle course of smoke and white dreadlocks one had to navigate halfway between the subway and the school.

I suspect, having been to the show the last few years, that it is the first that many that its exhibitors will attend on that particular side of the table—a fact that can make for rough showgoing, as many of the young cartoonists likely have yet to master the art of not taking personally the inevitable parade of attendees picking up work, flipping through it, and moving to the next table. Take heart, kids, it happens to the best of them.

The setting, too, makes for an enjoyable event. Held in a school-owned café near SVA’s front entrance, the show is something along the lines of what SPX might be, were it held in the lobby of a dormitory. I sadly arrived too late for the annual feeding of the art school students, in which a roomful of cartooning majors descend on a stack of delivery pizzas.

Unfortunately, due to my late arrival, I didn’t manage to spend as much time perusing this class’s output as I have in past years, though I did stop at as many tables as possible, picking up a handful of books and taking note of this year’s stylistic influences—manga, as always, is the dominant one for about half the class. And where past years’ students have drawn considerable influences from artists like Paul Pope and Molly Crabapple, Brian Lee O’Malley and Kate Beaton have both left their marks on this batch.

A quick sampling of what I walked away with, for those keeping track at home:

Coffee Spoon Comics by Various – A diverse selection of work from an all-female list of contributors (as with the past few years, the enrollment scales have really titled in favor of female creators).

Sadness #1 by Ben Mendelewicz – A psychedelic collage dealie, derived from Gary Panter and school of cartoonists he inspired.

Badman – Sketchy joke strips about Batman. What’s not to like?

Dunderbeck’s Machine by Patrick Sinnott – A steampunky adventure book—something I’m surprised I didn’t see more of, though most of the students seem to shy away from longer form work at the beginning of their careers.

Pet Me and I’ll Tell You Interesting Stories by Yao Xiao – Grotesque stick figure slapstick apparently inspired by the likes of animators like Don Hertzfeldt.

Year of Bad Comics by Pablo Castro – Not even close to a year, for the record.

–Brian Heater

I spent this past week between jobs, for the first time in nearly five years. After working for so long without a break, it’s hard to know what to do with yourself when a little time off presents itself. I considered, for a moment, embracing the in vogue notion of the staycation, but I couldn’t foresee a scenario involving me at home in Queens without work for a week that didn’t end in a Shining-esque trip through the hedge maze of sanity.

I ran down a quick list of possible destinations—somewhere cheap, somewhere quick. A place I could get to in a manner of hours, spend a day or two in, and then return home a day or so before clocking in at my new job. I needed a place to decompress alone from the fever pitch of stress that comes with quitting a job and helping run a major comics festival.

I settled on Philadelphia, booking a trip on the Megabus for $11 each way. I didn’t have a particular plan of action in mind upon arrival—just a lot of walking. Philly, thankfully, is a blissfully walkable city. This was my second time in the City of Brotherly Love—the first time I took a Chinatown bus down, but had shied away from that method of transportation in light of recent events.

I’d gotten much of the museum and historical sight seeing out of the way on that trip, so I solicited recommendations from locals, asking for record stores, used bookstores, bars, and comic shops. The comic shop tour sprung up fairly organically from there—once I visited my first store, it was clear that I had to check out the competition.

What follows is a very incomplete catalog of Philadelphia’s comic shops. It is, frankly, what I managed to see on that front in a little under two days. Apologies for any essential locations I missed, or for those that didn’t get a fair shake–I spent what I considered a reasonable amount of time for a shopper in each, save for Locust Moon, whose friendly owner and I spoke about the store for what seemed like an hour. I also took shots of the stores. Some are better documented that others—in some settings, asking to shoot someone’s store feels a bit awkward, so I just played it by ear.

Atomic City Comics

638 South Street

Atomic City is the comic shop equivalent to a bag of Skittles: It’s bright, it’s welcoming, and it’s not particularly great for you. The store is located directly on South Street—a street described to me as a “tourist trap” by one of the locals—fair enough. There are a lot of theme bars on the drag I’d advise avoiding at all costs, but the street also offers some of the city’s best stores: take Repo Records, a terrific little used record store that will forever be atop my list of destinations for subsequent trips to the City of Brotherly Love.

Atomic City is not one of those locations. That said, this is the second time I’ve been to Philadelphia—and the second time I’ve been to Atomic City (actually, last time the shop was called “Showcase Comics,” in a space two doors down—same difference, though). It’s kind of hard to avoid if you’re both the type to take an obligatory trip to South Street on a visit to Philadelphia and the sort who can’t walk past a comic shop without at least poking your head in. The store is big and bright (bright yellow), and the front wall is lined with rows of quarter vending machines full of a variety of bright plastic knickknacks.

The store is home to several arcade machines, though the one in the front was turned off when I arrived, decked out with a note indicating that state law only allows for a store without a proper license to operating three such machines at any one time. The others were in the back and were in use.

The store has rows of back issues, and even a tiny indie selection, comics really seem just a part of the store’s focus on general entertainment, which includes a small cooler near the front desk stocked with soft drinks bearing the likeness of such cartoon characters as Sonic the Hedgehog.

Brave New Worlds

45 North Second Street

One of my favorite aspects of East Coast cities is the way the old and new co-exist. New York has a bit of this, with ancient churches living alongside skyscrapers. For the most part, however, the truly old parts of the city are located toward the bottom of Manhattan (the city was developed from the tip of the island, upwards), places like Wall Street and Battery Park, which I honestly have little reason to stop by, save for the times I’m showing off my city to out of town visitors.

Philadelphia and Boston (particularly the latter) seem to have done a better job allowing the new intermingle with the historical. Walk around Philly for any length of time and you’ll stumble across something like the Liberty Bell or Benjamin Franklin’s house.

Brave New Worlds, my first official comics stop of my two-day visit is located in Old City, a particularly historic section of Philly. This is where William Penn and his fellow Quakers first settled in the city. It’s full of cobblestone streets and landmarks like Betsy Ross’s house and Elfreth’s Alley, one of the oldest continuously inhabited streets in the U.S. It’s also home to Brave New Worlds—one of Philadelphia’s best comic shops.

Like the majority of other comic shops in the area, the store specializes in mainstream books, as evidenced by the un-ironic lifesize Spider-Man and Silver Surfer statues in the store, and the neon Open sign in the front window, with Spider-Man’s oval head serving as the “O.” It’s a friendly store, but not overwhelmed by the bright colors that dominate Atomic and Fat Jack’s. The tour is muted and tasteful (at least as muted and tasteful as a store that stocks Marvel Comics lampshades can be).

The store has a fair-sized alternative comics sections—one of the largest I saw on my trip to Philadelphia, with book from big name indie publishers like Fantagraphics, Drawn & Quarterly, and Top Shelf—and even some smaller presses like Adhouse.

Brave New Worlds also gets points for being two doors down from a terrific used bookstore called The Book Trader. Oh, and if you ask an employee for directions to South Street, he’ll happily send you on the route with the best historical Philadelphia scenery.

Brickbat Books

709 South 4th Street

One of Philadelphia’s best comic shops would likely never bill itself as such. The rather aggressively-named Brickbat is just a small jaunt down a side street off of Philly’s über trendy South Street drag. The shop was actually recommended by an employee of a quaint, creaky-floored bookstore a few blocks away. I won’t actually mention that one by name—I’m not sure what the shop’s policy is, so far as diverting people to the competition, though, as the owner of another used book store in Center City, Philadelphia put it, “We’ve got to stick together” (“we,” in this case, meaning everyone but Border’s and Barnes & Noble—though those chains are certainly doing perfectly fine imploding on their own, thank you very much).

The store name, in part, seems to refer to the verbal definition of the term: A criticism or unfavorable remark.  Indeed, one has the distinct impression that choosing the wrong item might, in fact, result in a critique—as soon as you’ve made your purchase and exited the store, naturally. Thing is, however, the selection is on the small size, so there aren’t really so many wrong decisions to made—so perhaps those criticisms are levied at those who wouldn’t shop at such shop in the first place, or maybe it’s the people who do walk into the shop, only to discover that there’s nothing on these premises for them.

The shop was recommended to me in part for its being “beautiful,” and indeed, the store’s owner has constructed a rather elegant solution to the non-problem of displaying books. The shelves themselves would perhaps more appropriately be called cubby holes—perfectly square spaces that can store either a dozen or so books spine out, or one displayed with the cover facing out.

I enter the store and am immediately drawn to a collection of essays about Sun Ra published by some small British press—it’s oriented in the second position. I flip through the book for a second and ask the man behind the counter the name of the band playing over the store’s PA. He says a name that I don’t recognize and can’t quite make out. “It’s proto-Kraut Rock,” he adds. It’s that kind of store. When a customer comes in later, he discusses an audio CD on the counter—apparently it’s a séance conducted at a museum in an attempt to contact a dead artist. I sort of wish I’d bought the thing—and about half the rest of the items.

Brickbat was described to me as an “art book store,” though that description isn’t quite accurate. Really, it’s hard to get a firm grasp on a common line between the selections, but the entire inventory is rather well-curated and nearly every selection demands to be pulled from the shelf and flipped through. The other origin of the name is, supposedly, the owner’s odd habit of hurling books at the heads of patrons who ring the bell asking for airport bookstore fare. This is illustrated by an image of Ignatz on the front counter, spurning the advances of a odd-speaking cat with a brick to the back of her head.

The comics collection is scattered a bit across the cubbies—a nice gesture, I think, not restricting sequential art to a categorical ghetto. Of course, such is a luxury of a small store with a limited selection—there’s certainly something to be said for being able to find what you’re looking for. Brickbat isn’t that kind of store—it’s the sort of place you browse without particular selections in mind, stumbling upon obscure treasures in the browser. $35 seems a bit pricey for an early issue of an early Blab!—and those Edward Gorey first editions are for serious collectors only. I buy a volume about Ya Ho Wha 13 and the aforementioned Sun Ra book—the owner tells me he’s recently learned that the governor of Massachusetts is the estranged son of a member of the Arkestra. It’s that kind of store.

Fat Jack’s Comicrypt

2006 Sansom St

Fat Jack’s was recommended to me for two reasons—the first is general proximity. The shop was about ten blocks away from my hotel. The second is the two cats who inhabit the space. I first walked past the store after close, and saw them both prowling around the deserted space. The cats themselves were certainly not reason enough to get me out to the shop—I’m allergic. But after making it my goal to visit as many local comic shops as possible in two days, I’d be remiss if I opted to forgo the closest to my bed.

I liked Fat Jack’s. More than I thought I would. The focus of the space is certainly mainstream books (though that certainly holds for nearly every shop I saw this week)—the store had more long boxes than the other shops I’d visited. And like Atomic, Fat Jack’s has a blinding neon yellow color scheme. When I arrived, the owner and an employee were discussing the political leanings of ex-presidents (“McKinley was killed by an anarchist and Garfield was killed by a crazy guy, right?”), the manner of conversation one ought to be having at 11 A.M. on a Friday morning in a comic shop.

Fat Jack’s is the largest of all of the shops I visited this week—from the outside, it’s pretty clear that the space was originally intended to be two separate shops. The left half is largely devoted to new releases. The front of the right half of the store is monopolized by islands of trade paperbacks and graphic novels, including a portion featuring the standard indie releases, and a few more unexpected titles like an older issue of Hicke on Alternative and Sarah Glidden’s How to Understand Israel.

The back issues live in the rear of the right half of the store. I snapped a few shots back there and got my camera nosed by a curious cat hanging out on top of one of the long boxes. Like the trade portion of the store, a small section of the area is dedicated to indie publishers—a pretty great find, if you need to stock up on Yummy Fur or Vertigo’s run of American Splendor.

Locust Moon

4040 Locust St

A final official stop on the way to the Megabus back to New York. I lug a book and record-filled suitcase across the University of Pennsylvania. It’s a beautiful tree-filled campus, and the residents are making the most of what may well be the second sunny day of spring 2011. They’re out in force, and many are putting on bizarre little shows outside of on-campus frat house—singing songs, giving speeches, dancing. Must be some sort of orientation week. Or the end of finals, perhaps?

Things are even more chaotic a block away, with students standing on porches of off-campus houses, drinking assorted beverages from bright red keg cups, listening to top 40 hip-hop songs as loud as their indoor stereos will let them. Celebrations have spilled out beyond private property lines, as well, with a number of folks casually taking sips from plastic cups, while walking down the sidewalk—it’s a lot to behold before noon on a weekday.

An hour or so later, browsing through shelves at a used bookstore, an employee asks a cop, “I thought that sort of thing was frowned upon.” The officer answers, smilingly, “Shen they’re in the cups, we look the other way. Could be juice.” I knew I should have gone to an Ivy League school.

Locust Books is located about two blocks from campus. The store was one of two highly recommended by local cartoonist Box Brown (the other being Brave New Worlds). It shares a space with a role-playing game store, a thin makeshift wall separating the two.

When I arrive, there’s a “Back in Five Minutes” sign in the window (it had originally said “10”), so I wait in front, with my luggage, watching a group of Ivy Leaguers compete in a game of pre-lunch outdoor beer pong—NCAA rules, I assume. The shop’s co-owner shows up a few minutes later and apologetically opens the door.

Locust Moon is not particularly wide (due, no doubt to the wall it shares with the gaming store), but it is deep. In fact, the rear of the store is all movie rentals—a rough business to be in, these days, co-owner Chris Stevens admits.

The front of the store is all comics, however, and selection-wise, it’s hands-down the closest aligned with my tastes of all of the shops. There’s a wall devoted to new releases and a small section dedicated to back issues (the store has been open for just under a year and is a bit lacking on that front—the owner explains that he sends customers who ask for such things to Fat Jack’s). Stevens tells me that he and the other owner are considered moving those books to the rear of the store, to focus on the indie fare, of which Locust Moon has plenty.

Inspiration for the store, he adds, came from Isotope in San Francisco and the sadly-departed Rocketship in Brooklyn—both stores with indie focus that weren’t afraid to stock mainstream books, as well. And Locust Moon, like its predecessors, offers a pretty healthy mix. Stevens, it should be added, is pals with Meathaus co-founder, Farel Dalrymple, who drew the store’s logo and helped paint the Blankets-esque front desk. The original pages from a Stevens/Dalrymple collaboration are framed on one of the store’s wall.

Also of note: A fish tank full of Snorks toys and a giant aquatic frog. A few sheets of paper taped next to the tank keep track of which fish have been added, eaten, or succumbed to other fates. Stevens explains that they were written by two little girls who love Sandman and visit the store on a regular basis.

Locust Moon is a terrific young store—one that will hopefully do brisk business with students from the glut of colleges in the area known as University City. Unlike a lot of the other stores in the area, the shop has a consignment self-publishing section right near the front door. I do wish the section were a bit bigger, but, not surprisingly, the college kids seem more interested in Alan Moore’s Cthulhu book than hand-stapled screen-printed fare.

South Philly Comics

1621 E Passyunk Ave

The same bookstore employee who recommended Brickbat Comics also suggested I keep walking toward South Philly. I can’t really call it a recommendation—she actually recommended the area, explaining that it was a “cute” area with thrift stores, a gelato place, and oh yeah, there’s a comic shop down there, too. So I hiked, traversing the rows of cheesesteak restaurants, and indeed, finally stumbled upon South Philly Comics. The store shares a wall with Beautiful World Syndicate, a vinyl record store—always a good sign when scouting a new neighborhood.

I ask the guy behind the counter at the record shop if there’s a proper gentrified hipster name for the neighborhood, and he flinches a bit, insisting that it a yuppie area (see: the aforementioned gelato shop). The hipsters commute here to work in the shops and bars, he tells me.

I’d have asked the same question of the employee at South Philly Comics, but I don’t want to interrupt the conversation he’s having about Jim Lee. I should add that the fellow was perfectly nice and asked if I needed anything when I came in, but I realized pretty quickly that, save for a small section (a bit misleading, given the David Boring, X’ed Out, and Henry and Glenn Forever, which you can see in the window above), the hole in the wall shop isn’t really up my alley.

Wooden Shoe Books and Records

704 South St

Like Brickbat, this one is a bit of a stretch for this comic shop review. Also, like Brickbat, the origin of the store’s name involves the hurling of objects, apparently derived from the act of tossing wooden shoes into the gears of machines to avoid working long hours in early industrial capitalist France.

I’ve got a special place in my heart for anarchist bookstores, and really, all indie comics fans ought to. The people who run these stores have long realized the value of sequential art, particularly mini-comics, which grew up alongside zine culture, books based on the DIY ethos so essential to the shops themselves.

Located on the outskirts of the South Street consumerist Mecca (roughly a block or so down from the less-than-subtly-named called Condom Kingdom), Wooden Shoe is a terrific little shop, from what I can tell. As I walked in, an employee was cleaning up the flier wall in the front of the store, tearing a few from their staples. “Someone snuck in some Foo Fighters fliers,” he tells the other two staff members.

There’s a healthy-sized magazine shelf on one of the walls. The left side is dedicated to progressive and underground magazines. The right is dedicated almost entirely to zines, with a number of mini-comics mixed in—like Brickbat, Wooden Shoe’s small size affords it the ability to stock the titles alongside prose, poetry, and photo zines.

Directly to the right, is a section dedicated to zine collections. Alongside the standard zine fare (Burn Collector, Cometbus, Absolutely Zippo) are a number of small-run comics trades—Monsters by Ken Dahl, MK Reed’s Cross Country, and a handful of others. I ultimately walk away with three zines, the Ghost Pine collection, Revolution Summer, and the comics/zine combo, Miss Sequential. The lady behind the counter says, “Nice choices,” and I’m back on South Street.

–Brian Heater

I’m not sure if it’s common policy among festival organizers of the world, but it’s something that I instated after last year’s MoCCA Fest: A two month moratorium on all discussions of next year’s show. You can talk amongst yourselves, of course, but I ask kindly (for the sake of my own well-being) to please refrain from any discussion of April 2012 until at least June 2012.

There’s a certain physical and mental toll, I think, that comes with helping run even the most successful convention. It certainly applied to the three shows I ran programming for last year—MoCCA Fest, MIX, and King Con in Brooklyn. Three shows that honestly didn’t have all that much in common, save for subject matter and the fact that, after each, I lamented the non-existence of human hibernation.

It’s worth pointing out, I think, that on a personal note, the timing of the show couldn’t have been worse—certainly through no fault of the museum’s. They, after all, had scheduled the event over a year ago. And it was only a little over two weeks go that I officially gave notice at PCMag, making for something of a critical mass of personal and professional stress, as I attempted to close things out at work and put the finishing touches on the weekend’s programming (no amount of pre-preparation on my part has ever made it possible to avoid that last minute crunch), cleaning out my office and sending off goodbye letters to colleagues and coworkers.

I left my office one final time and crossed the street to the 6 train station, heading down the to festival kickoff party, officially slotted to begin an hour later. I was fairly dazed, cursing the subway delays, when I heard my name cut through the rush hour crowd in the station. As far as omens go, one could certainly do worse than running into Drawn & Quarterly’s Peggy Burns on New York City transit the night before MoCCA Fest. She was heading back down to the Strand bookstore for the first “Strandicon,” a Friday event in which D&Q’s roster played heavily.

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She was either heading to or coming from dinner, I can’t remember which, with Joe Ollman and Pascal Girard in tow. It was the first time I’d met the two humorists, though I’d slotted both on a panel, and proceed to run into both perhaps more than anyone else at the festival not wearing an official MoCCA Fest volunteer t-shirt.

We moved the official party to Friday this year, so as to not conflict with another MoCCA-sanctioned event on Saturday night. It was rather unfortunate that we were in direct competition with Desert Island’s Peter Bagge/Leslie Stein event and the long announced Drink and Draw Like a Lady, but given this year’s absurdly packed party schedule, Saturday night wasn’t all that more promising.

In all, I don’t think we could have asked for a better way to kick of the weekend. I DJed alongside Dean Haspiel, but not before cartoonist/anti-folk hero Jeffrey Lewis and 60s freak folk legend Peter Stampfel performed one of the most joyful sets of music I’ve ever witnessed, including a tribute to the departed Jeff Buckley, with Lewis singing as he turned the pages on a graphic interpretation of “Mojo Pin.” That was mere prelude to the performance that Lewis would put on at Carousel the next day. The last time I saw Stampfel, meanwhile, was on the festival floor as he leaned over and attempted to close a rolling suitcase jam-packed with all of the books he’d purchased at the show.

I lined myself up for four panels that weekend—which, before the show closed, had turned into five. The first was at 1:30pm—a conversation with legendary humor cartoonist Gahan Wilson. Running programming, however, requires showing up well before the convention opens, attempting to patch up mistakes and omissions and the inevitable but unforeseen glitches. There are a million things that can go wrong with a show this size, and if you’re lucky and things are run particularly well, you’ll only have to deal with 500,000 the morning of.

The most you can hope for, I think, is that any of those gaffs won’t ultimately overshadow the programming itself. The inaugural panel (a conversation between Jerry Robinson and Michael Uslan) began a bit later, but given the sheer number of things that could potentially go wrong from one panel to the next, the act of getting the thing off the ground at all makes a pretty compelling argument for the existence of a greater power. From there the best policy revolves around the questionable belief that traveling at the highest speeds is the best possible way to keep your own wheels from coming off at any one point.

Thanks to some truly terrific volunteers and our own Sarah Morean, who came all the way from Minneapolis for the show.

I’d be lying if I said that a technical glitch with a slide show on my first panel didn’t throw me off my game a bit, but one couldn’t ask for a better co-panelist than Wilson, who happily entertained my questions about fantasy conventions, the cross section of comedy and horror and what, precisely, set Nuts apart from other strips about kids. “Moderating” is perhaps not the proper word in this situation—when talking to Gahan Wilson, it’s more a matter of pointing him in a direction and watching him go.

Three hours later, it was a discussion about the admittedly broad “State of Editorial Cartooning” with Tim Kreider, Ruben Bolling and Ted Rall—three friends with ostensibly similar political leanings, who never really seemed to fully agree on anything. Rall railed against Obama, repeatedly describing him as “worse than Bush”—a wolf in donkey’s clothing, the theory goes. Kreider explained why he was so damned burned out with the whole thing, so much so that he’d largely thrown in the towl on his political cartooning career. And Bolling kept my attempts to make broad generalizations about the aforementioned state of things in check.

Ten minutes later, I was introducing Carousel, describing to the audience how R. Sikoryak and I might possibly be able to out-Carousel last year’s show, which was considered by many to be the most successful event of the festival. By the end, I genuinely think we succeeded—after it was over, Sikoryak smiled and laughed, “Well, I guess we’ve got to outdo ourselves next year.” Michael Kupperman, Lisa Hanawalt, Kate Beaton, Jeffrey Lewis, Ted Stearn, Sikoryak and voices Julie Klausner, Adam Conover and last-minute super special guest, Jackson Publick.

Sarah and I decompressed over dinner then headed to a small party hosted by The Comics Journal/Fantagraphics. There are two kinds of parties at a show like MoCCA Fest: The big blowout variety with cartoonist signing work and shaking hands, and then there’s the sort where one can have a quiet, casual conversation with, say, a Charles Burns. The Comics Journal’s event fell firmly into the latter—a friendly mix of cartoonists and other industry folks assessing the day’s events and reminiscing about shows we survived together like veterans of some foreign war.

But while I’d like to consider myself above the fray of rampant fanboyism, such conversations are a gentle reminder of precisely why I’ve put myself in this position in the first place. And really, there was no better reminder than my first Sunday panel. Somehow, after years of communicating with Peter Bagge through phone calls and e-mails, we’d never actually crossed paths at a convention. And when Fantagraphics publicist Jacq Cohen introduced us 15 minutes before our spotlight discussion was scheduled to begin, I told the cartoonist that I was trying hard not to gush. “That’s all right,” Bagge told me. “You’ve already said enough nice things about me in print.”

We prepped for the panel in a strange makeshift green room underneath a stuffed deer’s head, Bagge standing behind a bar, pretending to pour a drink for CBLDF head Charles Brownstein as he prepped for his Eisner tribute panel with Jules Feiffer, Denis Kitchen and Paul Levitz. The discussion with Bagge was almost certainly the highlight of my weekend, though the next panel, featuring Pizza Island artists Julia Wertz, Kate Beaton, Sarah Glidden, Lisa Hanawalt, Meredith Gran and Domitille Collardey. It was my own fault for attempting to format the discussion too strictly, so I wasn’t all that surprised when the artists suggested that we take a much more freewheeling approach to the panel, opening up the entire thing to audience questions—anything else just wouldn’t have suited the nature of the collective.

At 4pm I finally hit the floor for the first time after spending the vast majority of the show in the basement—a windowless subterranean reminder of the comics shows of my youth. And for the first time, when show-goers asked how I was doing, I could genuinely answer in the affirmative, with the sense that finally, 80 percent of the way through the show, I felt as though I were out of the wood, the stress behind me, ready to actually enjoy the damned thing. I finally shook hands and had conversations with non-panelists and flipped through and bought books.

I picked up a small pile of minis: Pranas T. Naujokaitis’s brilliantly packaged Beard, Kanji for Daily Use by Teylor Smirl, Nomi Kane’s ribbon-bound Sugar Baby, Heaven All Day by John Martz, Fable Funnies by Dakota McFadzean, a stack of Jason Viola comics, and Souful Sunday, a collection of strips based on soul songs—a mini-comic after my own heart. Chris Miskiewicz and Seth Kushner handed off colorful previews of their Act-I-Vate projects, as well. Not as large a haul as I might have hoped, but hell, mostly I was just happy to spend half an hour above ground.

As with last year, we closed the show out with an animation showcase and conversation. This year we featured short films from Bill Plympton, Signe Baumane and animation dabbler R. Sikoryak. The shorts themselves were a treat, but the real highlight, I think, was Baumane’s rather frank admissions about precisely how hard it is to carve out a living as an independent animator—not a particularly cheery note to end a show on, but hopefully the panel helped her move some copies of the DVDs she brought to the show.

After breaking down the show, Sarah and I partook in celebratory Banh Mi (which has become something of a post-MoCCA Fest tradition for me in the past few years), before making our way to the volunteer celebration/work party. There’s no rest for the MoCCA Fest volunteer, but there are certainly arguments to be made for free comics and pizza.

For Sarah and I, the real celebration happened a half hour later, a few blocks away, counting comics and attempting to gauge the success of the previous two-and-a-half days over glasses of whisky. On a personal level, it certainly felt like a successful weekend, a sentiment a number of friends and colleagues have echoed. There’s been plenty said about the fact that, with shows like The Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival and King Con, MoCCA Fest is no longer the only game in town—but the growth of other shows only seems to have helped MoCCA Fest establish its identity.

And hey, I’m more than glad to discuss next year’s show—just give me a couple of months.

–Brian Heater

I’ve known for awhile that First Second’s Editorial Director Mark Siegel would come to Minneapolis this winter. Until he arrived, I didn’t understand why.

Minneapolis, I now know, was the second stop on his “goodwill tour” (my words). Siegel is meeting with booksellers, organizers, librarians and students in an effort to promote comics readership and by extension First Second Books.

He’s reaching out to the people who matter in the comics world who we rarely talk about — the connectors.  People who are positioned to take comics seriously and bring new readers to the medium.  His travels have taken him to Seattle and Minneapolis so far.

Siegel’s tour may lead to other cities, I didn’t get his full itinerary, but I know he spent nearly a week in Minneapolis:

I attended a Thursday dinner where representatives from local bookstores, reading groups, writing centers and universities were present.  I see that he’s really reaching out; hopefully making a big impression on our local literary scene and reigniting excitement and interest in the graphic novel.

On Friday his time was spent largely with the folks at the Minneapolis College of Art & Design (MCAD), talking with seniors during the day and at night giving a presentation on graphic novels to a packed house.  The talk was sponsored by Rain Taxi (a literary magazine that also reviews comics and runs the Rain Taxi Festival of Books), MCAD and Big Brain Comics.

Saturday he delivered a talk on graphic novels to the Children’s Literature Network, an event that targeted librarians and educators and discussed comic editing and publishing at the Loft Literary Center.

Monday he stopped by comic shops around town, including Dreamhaven (closed, unfortunately) and The Source Comics & Games, and ran a workshop on creating graphic novels through the Minnesota Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators.

Tuesday he met with a group of public librarians through the Metropolitan Library Service Agency (MELSA), a library group that includes the majority of the metro area’s public libraries — including Hennepin County Library, one of the top library systems in the nation.

I was able to attend his talk at MCAD and have transcribed parts of it below.

Part of what I do is travel around the country and hit up important towns, talking to librarians and educators and a lot of writers and artists.

As the years wore on…what was the underground, I think it’s fair to say, gave birth to the indie comics scene. And the indie comics scene was maturing this idea of adult comics — but adult in the best sense of the word. In the idea that there are authors working here in this medium.

Teen and children’s librarians have been on board with graphic novels for a long, long time. Before booksellers, before publishers. Sometimes adult librarians are catching up.

If you look at music, movies, novels, poetry — it’s all 90% crap. But there are the gems and the stuff that stays that’s forever. And you meet another human mind, and your life is enhanced from that meeting. Whether that is someone you connected to through their prose or their comics it doesn’t really matter terribly.

To Dance is a book my wife wrote that was ten years of her life in ballet and we did this for middle grade girls, mainly. It’s a little comic book about her being in George Balanchine’s school while he was still running it and she was a young pre-professional ballerina. I tell this when I talk to librarians because, first of all, ballet disarms them a little bit, they don’t expect comics geeks to know even what ballet means. What was interesting was Sienna, she doesn’t really warm to comics and I don’t especially warm to ballet. And we were looking at this project — we’re both excited about it — but we both had to journey towards each other’s medium.

And my journey with ballet is a lot like other people’s journey with comics. With ballet I had to get a little bit of the vocabulary — because it’s a language — just enough so that I could sit through one then enough to appreciate how you read a ballet. Because if you’re looking for plot it’s painful, so you’re supposed to be looking for something else. You’re actually looking with a different part of yourself — you’re actually looking more with your feelings.

What happened with the ballet thing is I had a moment…Sienna pops in this tape of old black and white footage of Don Quixote. It was Suzanne Farrell as Dulcinea and George Balanchine as Don Quixote — him walking almost in slow motion and she’s doing this incredible dance all around him and [knowing some of the background of the performers] — I could feel that it was real. He was reaching for her and she just kept alluding him. The feeling was electrical it just shocked through my spine and I got it. What I felt just now is what gets someone hooked on ballet. And from that point on I was actually able to read ballets and from that point on I could get something from ballets, they could nourish me in a way they couldn’t before. And the reason is it doesn’t matter — it’s never going to be my favorite medium — but what came through that moment was the universal man-woman mystery, it’s human. It’s beyond whatever medium, it just comes through this moment, in this case ballet.

Basically, First Second is aiming to get moments like that into comics. There are more and more. For some people a book like Fun Home a book like Persepolis a book like Maus — now more and more books — are doing that. And it doesn’t have to be heavy. Sometimes it’s goof and it’s fluff or you know in our first year at First Second we put out American Born Chinese which tapped into a very universal immigration experience. And it suddenly entered into this bigger conversation and it wasn’t about whether or not you were into comics, it was just an important book.

In the last five or six years, in large part because of manga, all the large publishing houses sat up and took notice that there were millions of dollars changing hands and they weren’t getting that money. I happened to be right at the right place at the right time in a weird way. My first picture book had come out and it was in a comics form so that got a good deal of attention. I was at Simon & Schuster and acquired Little Vampire by Joann Sfar — a great, great children’s comic — and that was on the New York Times best seller list for awhile. Then this article came out about me — it was an interview but it made me sound like the messiah of the coming graphic novel — which I’m not. I think I’m not. I’m pretty sure I’m not. I was a designer doing picture books and suddenly I had interviews with the heads of the biggest houses in New York and the head of Macmillan was the one who basically offered me editorial freedom. I had a vision for what First Second would become — we didn’t have a name for six months — which was something uniquely American that could do for America what happened in Japan and Western Europe, which was to actually get into the mainstream reading household and stay there forever. And it wouldn’t happen in the same way as it did in France or Japan but it had to happen in a way that’s right for here. And there was a plan for approach. And Macmillan was definitely the place to go — so I went ahead!

So the vision for First Second can be summed up in these words: care and quality. Specifically care in the editorial process and trying to learn from the best editors.

It’s not the Marvel/DC school of editing, it’s the Maxwell Perkins the Ursula Nordstroms — the great, great editors who are the champions of authors and they also ask the tough questions of authors and drive them and hold them to their own highest standard — and we’re trying to do that at First Second.

The care during is the production of the books. We really try and pamper them in every possible way. And there are a few houses like Drawn & Quarterly that produce really beautiful books. We’re producing them in a slightly different way with a different angle but we’re also trying to create really beautiful books that are not pulp and are not throw-away, that are for keeps.

Care after, of course, is championing a book and trying to not let them go out of print. We banished the word backlist — it used to be that publishing houses lived on their backlist, it’s what sustained them. And then more and more the corporate model of publishing has moved into the more Hollywood model which is the blockbuster weekend and then it’s forgotten and we’re on to the next thing. And I think that’s a terrible tragic thing and it’s not right for books, or how we want to be at First Second.

Another pillar for First Second was a worldwide talent pool. I’m very interested in experimenting with bridging with other fields and that’s sometimes fraught with trouble but I’ve had some very successful experiments and some duds with a playwright, some screenwriters a novelist some historians, I have a naturopath nutritionist — there’s going to be a medical graphic novel coming before long, a couple of culinary projects, and stuff like this is bridging to other fields. We have writers from the Daily Show and Colbert Report. Foreign partnerships we’ve pursued aggressively from the start. I think American Born Chinese is getting up to 18 or 19 languages now. These are international editors that I know that I keep in touch with and we buy from each other. That’s part of the First Second idea.

If you look back at our first season with First Second it looks like we were all over the map — and we were. There was Sardine in Outer Space for 8 year olds and Eddie Campbell’s The Fate of the Artist on the same season and I think also the book about genocide in Rwanda, Deogratias. And a few people were wondering what is the program at First Second? But those things became the start of these broad avenues that we’ve kept exploring.

We’re doing every age category so we’ve got children’s, teen and adult concurrently within the collection. We’re not trying to corner a particular niche.

If you’re a librarian, Nancy Pearl is a rock star. She’s in Seattle, she has a TV show called Booklust and a series of Booklust books. She’s one of these highly influential librarians. She was the one who started Seattle Reads and all of Seattle read Persepolis and she’s been a great champion of comics and she’s done great things for First Second.

I think one of the things that distinguishes First Second is that we make an effort to play in all three of these markets — there’s the direct market, the comics world, the book retail and the library market and there’s interesting overlaps between them.

Some of the big publishing houses are good at the library and good with the book markets but they can’t get their act together with Diamond and the comic shops. Some of the indie publishers are good with the comic shop but they can’t figure out how to get properly reviewed by the book reviewers in mainstream media.

With webcomics we have a few experiments going. There are a few different kinds of webcomics — the ones that have been the most successful are the strip comics that are short, easy to forward and kind of self-contained. But then there are more and more of these long-form comics that are like the old-fashioned serialized story, and that’s what we’re exploring more of. I’ll mention these three: Zahra’s Paradise is being done with some Iranian dissidents. It’s being written about the events in Iran that are going on right now, starting back in the June 2009 protests and is a phenomenal story. The other is Sailor Twain or The Mermaid in the Hudson and that has a 19th Century plot to it, and seems to belong in that tradition of the old serial. There’s another one which I’m especially pushing to librarians which is Americus. It’s a banned book story.

Each one is basically an experiment in building a different kind of community around a project. It’s a very interesting thing.

In America it’s kind of a vexing thing. I wonder why do we have (other than our top tier of books) print runs around 10,000-15,000 for a first printing? And that’s better than some of the indie houses, but I think in a country this size it’s crazy. So I think there’s work to be done here. And maybe you guys can join into that but we need to find a way to crack America open. It needs to be that comics are in every reading household and maybe in some cases households become reading households.

I really do think the taste I’m getting from being here and talking to a lot of people is that the Twin Cities are ripe to make something happen for the whole country. I think if it happens here it will happen everywhere else.

I’ve been to Seattle, which for a long time has been the big book town, and I’m from New York. Certainly if you can make noise in New York that’s a feat in itself, that can launch a book.

Seattle can launch a book. Nancy Pearl has been known to do that. And she was the one who told me two years ago when I was doing a workshop out there, “Go to Minneapolis, you need to go to Minneapolis. That’s where it’s going to happen.” And I don’t know if you know that about your own town. Just in terms of books, Minneapolis is one of the great book towns.

So how does that translate into comics? How can you harness some of that Minneapolis power and make it go bang? Because I think if you can make it happen here it will spread through the librarians, to the booksellers to the comics community…it will happen.

You’ll find more photos of Siegel’s visit HERE.

Congratulations to First Second Books on its fifth anniversary this year!

- Sarah Morean

Lunch Break is a short round-up of favorite webcomics appearing here each weekday at noon. Here’s something for you to enjoy over your lunch break or whenever. The premise is simple: it’s another day on the internet. Here’s a new or forgotten comic that seems interesting. Have something to recommend? Email us: crosshatchdispatch@gmail.com.

1. “#2134″ from Cyanide & Happiness by Kris, Rob, Matt and Dave // August 8, 2010
2. “Make a Wish” from Weenage Tasteland by unknown // 2008
3. Garfield by Jim Davis // June 19, 2009
4. “Happy Birthday” from Amazing Super Powers by Wes & Tony // September 2008
5. My Life in a Cube by Shane Johnson // February 20, 2009

– Sarah Morean