Par Mercedes Aguirre

A few years ago I heard that a release of Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past in graphic novel form had stirred up a lot of controversy; something about how a great classic should not be relegated to the lowly ranks of pop culture. While I am not the biggest fan of the graphic novel (for example, I don’t collect them or attend comic book conferences), I do like them. I think they can be an excellent vehicle for introducing audiences to both literature and history, and a good tool for sparking interest in these topics. Perhaps more than anything else, I have a fondness for graphic novels since they were a part of my childhood.

In my childhood home in Mexico, one thing we always had in abundance were reading materials. We had everything from comic books of various different kinds (Wonder Woman, The Spirit, La familia Burrón), novels, magazines, newspapers and reference books. Children’s books ranged from standard fairy tales to stories where two young sisters rescued a herd of sheep from a blizzard, becoming their town’s heroines.

In the graphic novel department we had adaptations of both Oscar Wilde’s The Portrait of Dorian Gray and Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart. We also had several tomes of a collection of Mexican history in comic book form. As a child I spent many hours immersed in these publications, which at a young age transported me to places where murders were committed, hearts beat under wooden floors, revolutions were planned, hilarious stories were told, and sheep were valiantly saved. Watching the recently released DVD of the movie Persepolis, I went back in time to this childhood of rich visuals, captivating story lines, unforgettable characters and sometimes violent scenarios.

Persepolis, an animated film based on the graphic novel / memoir by the same name, tells the story of Iranian author Marjane Satrapi’s childhood and adolescence. I loved this film for various reasons. First off, its old-school animation (everything was drawn by hand) gave it a warmth that is hard to come by in animation nowadays. Also, the style of the movie’s drawings brought to mind several beloved publications from my childhood. The film’s aesthetics were reminiscent of the naïve style of drawing found in the comic book Mafalda, along with touches of the type of illustrations found in Antoine de Saint Exupery’s The Little Prince. Also, certain drawings in this movie strongly reminded me of visual elements found in traditional Chinese children’s books such as The Monkey King.

Besides its aesthetics, I also liked this film because it’s peppered with pop culture references from the eighties, the decade during which I came of age. Ultimately though, what made me like this movie the most is its story about an iconoclastic (and sometimes quirky) family. The film effortlessly combines the personal and the political, as it narrates the adversities a family must face due to the ever changing political landscape of their home country.

Watching the movie Persepolis, which has a story line composed mainly of flashbacks, I couldn’t help but be pulled back into my own past. Satrapi’s family reminded me very much of my own: the strong bond between family members, their liberal politics, their belief that girls should grow up to be strong, independent, well-educated women. This movie is to me, a film text that beautifully weaves aesthetics from my childhood books along with stories and values similar to those of my family’s.

This summer my mother and I will visit my sister and nieces who now live in Wisconsin. I know many hours will be spent talking about our family’s history, savoring my sister’s delicious meals, re-telling anecdotes, laughing, and also remembering those who are gone. Then as night falls, we will gather in front of the glaring T.V. screen watching Persepolis. As the story unravels, I will listen for my family’s laughter and gasps. In the bluish light I will watch their expressions to see if they, just as I did, recognize our family in the Satrapi family. I will lean back and indulge in having carried on a family tradition: sharing rich texts.