Literary Fiction as Confession

So I read two of the more literary form of the comic book which is called the graphic novel. The two works which impressed me most were both Autobiographical which is Alison Bechel’s Fun Home and Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis.  I decided to read them primarily because they are two types of work which I do not like. I rarely like autobiography and a graphic novel set in the fairly recent past. Give me facts, give me drama, give me stories and give me dreams for that is what I desire as a reader. Give me Meduseld, Give Me Troy, give me the old Lakota stories I grew up hearing of the spirits of the storms and waters.

After reading these two very talented and candid authors I came to the conclusion that these tales were not stories in the usual sense where people encounter the fantastic and make their way through this adventure. I have always loved stories but I never liked how people tell the stories of themselves. The greatest things about these two authors is they tell you the truth about their own lives, their angst, their mistakes their suffering and their most fervent desires. Bechdel and Satrapi are both highly lauded and highly respected but neither of them desired this they wanted the most human and mundane things in the world. Bechedel wants her father and Satrapi wants her home. These are not tales, these are confessions form to woman looking backwards.

So as I think about these two works I realized that the lesson I learned from two of these life stories is the ultimate truth which is that of Ecclesiastes. Life is painful, You will suffer and the more you know the more you will suffer. There is no safety in ignorance or illusion. Get on with it, Life. Live and smile when joy fills the air like bird song in summer and weep when the world seems like ashes in the winter winds. So I will.



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