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It still irks me that I missed out on a lovely hardback of Little Nemo in Slumberland in a sale back in 2000. I need to let these things go I suppose.
Having read a lot about McCay over the years I've always been intrigued but I've rarely had the chance to see his work for myself. In fact I'm more familiar with Neil Gaiman and Steve Moore's pastiches than the work of the man himself. Which is all so much preamble for saying I was delighted to fork out £17 for this lovely oversized hardback from Fantagraphics.
To start off with I'll get the 'cons' out of the way. The reproduction is on the most part perfectly adequate but one or two pieces out of the hundreds contained look like they warped in the scanning or printing, the spine looks like it's on the fragile side of things, and I'd have liked the pieces to be date marked and perhaps have a little contextual commentary on some of the newspaper illustrations but they really are my only complaints and they pale into insignificance in comparison with the enjoyment that I've got from it.
Not only is there a preface and an introduction covering the life of McCay there are two pieces written by the man himself on cartooning. They're all excellent reads and help to make this book seem like a deserved tribute to a spectacularly talented and dedicated artist.
As for the contents themselves the allegorical drawings are excellent examples of this forgotten art form and his drawings imagining the then distant future of the 1930's display an imagination that is both wild and accurate. Also included are a series of drawings positing what would happen if famous figuers of history returned to see the world they've influenced. Essentially the same idea repeated half a dozen times they're intricatley done and in some cases very interesting.
There are also copious amounts of strip work. Mr Bunion has aged the least well, and the series of images about dreams inspired by late-night rarebit activity suffer from being placed side by side because they have the same ending ("Oh! It was just a dream! I shan't eat a Rarebit last thing at night ever again!") but the variety and scope of the dreams is entertaing and sometimes unsettling, ranging from a bearskin coat coming back to life, sunflowers growing to immense height, a dress slowly changing patterns, and more surprises, delights, bafflements, and macabre scenarios than one man should have been able to come up with.
There's also a humour strip called Little Sammy Sneeze (He never knows it's coming!) about the mis-adventures of a little boy with a big sneeze. This, again, is the same idea repeated but done so well it remains funny. In the first panel Sammy starts to develop a sneeze, we then see the situation he's in, in the penultimate panel he sneezes, then we see the chaos caused.
For example we see Sammy visit a museum and examine a dinosaur skeleton. His parents goggle on about how long it took to put the skeleton together...then A-choo! You know the result but it's very silly and very skilfully done. The punchlines are over explained in dialogue where they could be left in silent panels and remain as funny but perhaps that was the style of the day. I don't know? Do you?
Any way, I've rambled too much. This is a wonderful collection that will distract and delight in equal measure. Some qualms about the visual racial stereotyping in the strips aside (and they really do seem like a forgivable product of the time rather than any racial agenda) this is a book of astonishing vitality and cleverness and I'm left with two strong feelings, firstly admiration for McCay, and secondly a strong desire to track down Little Nemo in Slumberland as soon as I can.
Highly recommended. |
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