ENG430 Week 2: Graphic Novel Observations

    The book between my hands is hard-cover and dense, and as I lower it to my dining room table with a deep thunk, I imagine that in a pinch it would make a fine weapon. I imagine that if I were walking on N. Farwell, or down Maryland on my way home from class that I would not become one of those UWM Emergency Alert texts, so long as I feel the smoothness of it’s matte casing weighting down my grip. In reality, I care too much about its already-too-creased corners to shove it into my school bag ever again. My thumbs graze the four crunched corners, unbending them and watching them crumple mournfully into themselves, over and over. The darkness of the outer casing collects my fingerprints like a toddler’s against sliding glass doors.

    Where the cover isn’t the soft black nothingness of space, the title stands out– shiny, skinny, and white. My thumbnail traces through the ridges of the glossy inscription repeatedly, mimicking the croaking of a wooden percussion frog, vvvvt, vvvt, vvt. Then, I trace each letter individually, ‘O’, ‘N’, ‘A’, ‘S’, ‘U’, ‘N’, ‘B’, ‘E’, ‘A’, ‘M’. Turning the book over gives my weak wrists a real challenge. The spine creaks against my palm as the misplaced bones in my wrist do, too, and my hand braces taunt me from a forgotten drawer in my room. Just above the barcode, I’m reminded that the quality of this cover comes at great expense– $42.99 CAN, but only $32.99 US! What a deal!

I open the book with the intent to forget and my purchase is immediately vindicated all over again. I’m reminded that pretty comes at a price. Bombarded by vivid color, overwhelmed with spreads of teal, pages of reds and peaches, and chapters of marron-lavender galaxies. Rather than that musty mildew smell of a vintage book that dedicated readers claim to love so much, I am greeted by the warm, clean, richness of ink. Between my forefingers, the 540 pages are rigid, sturdy, and watercolor-paper-rough. Bound together with six tiny lines of thread running vertically where the chapters kiss, I am astounded by these hardworking strings. The pages flip over one another neatly, systematically, except for the chapter where the binding is cracked, and so juts out like an unbraced tooth. 

       Opening and closing the back cover, I create a soft breeze, running my hand along the textured black-and-teal spine that pictures fish spaceships and galaxies far, far away. I hear that purcussive thunk, again, and take a moment to tap my fingers rhythmically. Then, feeling the sustained reverberation through my lap I continue tap-thump-tap-thumping. Satisfied to have gained an instrument and a weapon, all in one sitting.