I couldn't go to the Small Press Expo (aka SPX), which makes this year no different from the last 20-odd years. Reports I've heard describe it as eventful. Someone posted a blog post about artists to check out who were exhibiting their work at SPX, so I went online and bought a bunch of their books, concentrating on female cartoonists whose work I had never read before. I wanted to keep it fresh.
But time passed and I read other comics, and then Retrofit/Big Planet sent me a pile of comics because I supported their Kickstarter, so this post has nothing to do with SPX at this point except that all the comics here are literally small press comics (unless you don't consider Fantagraphics Books a small press).

Tinderella
I wasn't wowed by it, even though there were entertaining bits. I don't like her art--it reminded me a little bit of the art of Pete Sickman-Garner, a largely forgotten cartoonist from the late 90s and early 2000s. I don't know if Harkness is destined to become a forgotten cartoonist from this era much as Sickman-Garner is from his, but her art is, like Sickman-Garner's, second rate and lacking in an interesting or highly personal style. But sometimes artists are rough when they start out and blossom later.

Gulag Casual

Austin English, page 8 from "My Friend Perry", 2011
The drawing however is very modernist and improvisational. If I had to make a comparison, I would say it shares elements of Wols and the COBRA artists (Karel Appel, Asger Jorn and Pierre Alechinsky)--improvisation, a certain childish quality, but also an energy that resembles post-war abstract painting in the USA. There aren't really any comics artists who are exactly similar, although Gary Panter and Anke Feuchtenberger are on the same trolley route.
But the difference between English and Panter and Feuchtenberger is that there is no connection between his drawing and the narrative he's layered on top of the drawings. At least, none that is apparent to this reader. One can vaguely relate what is depicted in each panel to what is happening in the narrative (for instance, if two people are talking, you will observe two figures in the panel), but the connection is barely there.

Austin English, page 5 of "Freddy's Dead", 2011-2012
The exception to this disconnect is the story "Freddy's Dead"--in it, the protagonists Freddy and Carmello are on the subway and a beggar comes on board, throws broken glass on the ground and rolls around in it. This is depicted in a disturbing full-page image. It doesn't feel as improvisational as most of the other images in the book.
Anyway, I would say this is a book to read for the pictures, not for the comics narratives. I like English's drawing a lot.

All the Sad Songs

The story alternates between the folk scene and Pierre's disastrous love life and the two sides of the story become completely intertwined. After her breakup with Tom, she suffers anxiety and starts seeing a therapist. Her sessions with therapists is a third stream in this memoir, and Pierre makes it interesting, using interesting visuals to depict her state of mind. The memoir ends in 2005 when she falls in love with a man name Graham (who also falls for her) but they never become a couple because Graham knows he is moving away shortly. The feeling the reader is left with is that because Summer doesn't freak out about this, she has learned to handle her romantic anxiety. I would say this book as a whole is ample proof of that. In the "about the author" at the end, you learn that Pierre is now married to a man and they have a son.
The art is simple but tells the story well. It seems to come out of the tradition of other autobiographical cartoonists like Chester Brown, Julie Doucet and Joe Matt, and has hints of classic pre-War comic strips like The Bungle Family and Gasoline Alley. It's light-hearted even in the most emotional parts, which works really well for this book.

I Love You

Understanding

Becca Tobin, "Skinny Dipping" page 2, 2018
In a weird way, the aimlessness of these stories reminds me a little of Geoff Dyer's novel The Colour of Memory: A Novel

Drawn To Berlin: Comic Workshops In Refugee Shelters And Other Stor

Ali Fitzgerald, Drawn to Berlin: Comic Workshops in Refugee Shelters and Other Stories from a New Europe p, 84
Fitgerald has several exceedingly interesting digressions. She describes at length Joseph Roth's descriptions of Jewish Berlin, particularly of the refugees from the pogroms of Russia. The parallels with the modern refugees seems particularly apt and chilling--we know what happened to those earlier refugees, after all. And then she has a lengthy diversion on fonts--specifically Fraktur, a very old fashioned Germanic-looking font that fell out of favor after the World War II. (One notable exception--novelist Gunter Grass insisted on Fraktur for his novels). It was abandoned for more sleek, less overtly Germanic fonts.Ironically, Hitler personally decreed that Fraktur be replaced with the more modern looking Anitqua in 1933. He thought it would be an easier sell in territories conquered by the Nazis. Fitzgerald notes the gradual and seemingly apolitical return of Fraktur into public life in Germany--simultaneous with the return of the ultra-right to politics, as represented by the AFD.

Ali Fitzgerald, Drawn to Berlin: Comic Workshops in Refugee Shelters and Other Stories from a New Europe p,91
Fitzgerald shows her students work by Charles Burns and references the comics of Joe Sacco, whose classic "How I Loved the War" from 1992 (reprinted in the book Notes From a Defeatist
Throughout she focuses on her students, who flit in and out of her life as they are cycled through the refugee apparatus. There is an interesting scene where she has second thoughts about recording these stories--an issue that many memoir author faces. She did change people's names, though.

Ali Fitzgerald, Drawn to Berlin: Comic Workshops in Refugee Shelters and Other Stories from a New Europe p, 185
The title Drawn to Berlin: Comic Workshops in Refugee Shelters and Other Stories From the New Europe is terrible. The pun is weak, the subtitle too long and overly-explanatory. But if you can get past that, this is a powerful and moving comic.

The Prince
May discovers a frog in the barren hallway of their apartment building and take it in. Adrian is repulsed by it. He makes May get rid of it. The frog seems as fragile as any frog in real life would be--when May leaves him outside by the river, it is quickly eaten by a bird. But the frog keeps returning, to Adrian's extreme displeasure.

The story of not told in a linear fashion. It keeps switching back and forward in time, and we readers have to decide what is "real" and not. Some episodes seem like fantasy (Adrian attacked by a giant monster frog). Some involve violence committed by May against pushy assaulty men. The question the reader has is has May become an avenging angel killing men who have mistreated her (inspired by her "prince", the frog)? Or is there a supernatural frog creature going around killing men who abuse May? Or is it all an hallucination?
The open, minimal detail and bizarre content remind me a little of Olivier Schrauwen, but Liam Cobb doesn't commit to surrealism to the degree that Schrauwen does. But The Prince was interesting and amusing.
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