Archive for the ‘criticism’ Category

The Monster cabaret of Fred Brunold, suggests newspaper Dnes, is what would come about if Kafka were to direct film noir. This may not top of the list of those things which might revulse Kafka’s ghost were he to pace back and forth in Old Town square today, but neither would it be one of those creative works which could not have existed without him and of which he could justifiably be proud.



We last looked at Lucie Lomová’s first graphic novel, Anna Chce Skočit, or Anna Wants to Jump. Published first in French, it’s Czech edition won the Komiks Fest Muriel Award and the Zlatá Stuha, or Gold Ribbon, on the year of its release. Its success persuaded its French publisher Edition L’an 2 to commission a second, more ambitious and, since it is full colour, financially riskier graphic novel, Divoši, or Savages. Her talent now fully recognised at home, the Czech edition, which, I believe to have been published this time concurrently with the French, was supported financially by the Czech Ministry of Culture and to my knowledge remains the only domestic full colour adult graphic novel. (more…)

Unwittingly, I have known Lucie Lomová’s work for years. A few weeks back I posted on Hrdý Budžes, a book that was gifted to me a few years ago, and which I have translated into English, something which means I have spent more time with it than perhaps any other book (with the possible exception of a number of guides to programming BASIC for Acorn microcomputers which I carried around with me obsessively as a child). The illustration on the front of the book, of Helenka, the eight year old hero of the piece, walking through the snow in her home town of Ničín with a lantern held out on a stick in front of her casting a long shadow behind her, red stars in the sky above, is pitch perfect. I discovered a few days ago that this illustration was by Lucie Lomová after reading her first graphic novel, Anna Chce Skočit, Anna Wants to Jump.

A couple of weeks back, I stumbled upon the Sheldon-friendly comic shop, Comics Point, near Jířího z Poděbrad, a couple of hundred metres away from the famous television tower. Mentioning the comics exhibition at DOX, I asked for some Czech graphic novels, perhaps something like Alois Nebel. The guy behind the counter was helpful and picked out a few examples for me to look over. There was Kája Saudek, a huge spread-out-FT-sized album brought down from the top shelf with some ceremony, and the usual “of course” I have now heard every time his name is mentioned (”he would have been as famous as Walt Disney were he not born in Communist Czechoslovakia” claims a quote on the Kája Saudek museum, and whilst this is clearly hyperbolic, from the evidence I have seen so far it is far from being absurd and, since it may be technically easier to write prose for the shelf and publish it as samizdat abroad than to stockpile, copy or hide comics, it may prove to be the case that the impact of totalitarianism on Saudek’s output is one of the greater artist tragedies of Czechoslovak history). Saudek then, is something I will certainly look into as soon as I have the money. Stylistically though, his work appears to be varied, but I might describe it as the action film school of comics, and I was looking for something a little different. I looked over the others he had brought down. One was, stylistically, simply not my cup of tea, I remember little about it aside from there being a bunch of heavy metal album cover style post-apocalypse gas masks or some such. Might be great but I didn’t see myself getting on with it. There was then a couple from Lucie Lomová. The first, Anna Chce Skočit, Anna Wants to Jump, was familiar. I vaguely recall looking over it in Palác Kníh bookshop in one of my regular hunts for graphic novels on my holidays in Prague after moving back to Britain in 2005. I always bought something back, and asked others to do the same, but, as I tended for a long time to be more assiduous in my struggles with the Czech language than my efforts to familiarise myself with its literature, it was most often something translated into Czech. I waited impatiently for every book of David B’s L’Ascension du haut mal, Epileptic, for instance, and for Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis to come out in Czech translation. At some point I must have looked over Anna Wants to Jump and decided against it. I looked over it now, liked the style and theme of the first pages and put it aside as a possible. Another, Divoši, Savages, by the same author was a little thicker, possibly a little more demanding on the finances, and full colour. I don’t know why but with newspaper cartoons and graphic novels both, I have always tended to prefer monochrome – my favourite artists, from Craig Thompson to Marjane Satrapi, David B and Seth, all have tended to work in monochrome or grey scales. I cast an eye over the lot and plumped for Anna Wants to Jump. As much as anything, I was in the mood for a female protagonist. (more…)

In 2004 I was living in a room in a house in Prague 4. Radím, a hyperactive unemployed anglophile banker, not long back from a stint working in a factory in Nelson in deepest darkest Yorkshire, had been one of my first students, and helped me find the place. Looking back, it was one of the better places I had in Prague. Probably one of the better places I’ve lived full stop.

I had lived at Radím’s and at his parents’ place. By then I had been in the Czech Republic perhaps three months, had taught a few classes, done a month’s TEFL course, and a further month’s intensive Czech. Aside from a couple of months flicking over a textbook or two at home before flying out, and having watched a couple of films, that was my only contact with the language. I can gauge my level in that time by the snatches of conversation I remember with the mother who reminded me of a character in Christopher Isherwood’s Goodbye Berlin. That, and walking out one day and being asked by the usually grumpy man of the house if I had time – I recall feeling something like a sense of achievement or surprise or some such in recognising those two words in a phrase I had not specifically learned, a relative first since I had had little experience of learning languages before this, and what exposure I had had to French had been with the written language. He soon had me standing ten feet off the ground on an old wooden ladder that might have been made of rubber, fearing for my life and reaching out with a similarly decrepit wooden rake to pull a climbing vine off the wall, nearly pulling myself off with it. (more…)