I’m not including comic books in my meager 26-book challenge for the year — not because they’re not art or they’re not as worthy, but simply because I already read 26 comic books a year. But I still like spouting off my opinions about things, so they’ll go into the exhibition rounds.
Fox Bunny Funny by Andy Hartzell
Indie comic! Cartoon animals! No words!
Illiterate LGBT people.
The world is rigidly divided into foxes, the oppressors; and bunnies, the victims. This book tells the first half of the life story of a fox who empathizes a little too much with the bunnies.
I am 100% genuinely and sincerely behind the idea of indie comics. Being a bad artist myself, I’m envious of and impressed by the people who aren’t. When someone can take his artistic talent and expand it into a full story, that’s even more impressive. Having the courage to make it personal and meaningful is even more impressive than that.
All that said, 99% of indie comics just leave me cold. I’m just too much of a cynic to remember the beauty of personal expression, when they so often are nothing more than variations on the theme of “life is hard for me because I’m different.” They never seem to appreciate that life is hard for everyone, because everyone is different, and the paradox that feeling alienated is the one thing everyone has in common.
The book takes what could’ve been another trite, self-absorbed “journey of self-discovery,” or passive-aggressive complaint about being excluded, and instead shows the universality of alienation and societal oppression. The lack of words and the use of cartoon animals avoids making the theme too narrow in focus — the characters become symbols, the scenes become reminders of events we’ve all experienced.
And it’s much deeper than its title or a first glance at the characters suggests, but also much much lighter, darkly humorous, and more accessible than you’d think from reading reviews that mention symbolism and allegory and sociopolitical commentary. The pacing is inspired, the characters’ expressions are perfect, and there are clever design touches throughout, ranging in subtlety from obvious jokes and funny-animal parody to something as simple as the use of negative and positive space. There’s an attention to detail and world-building that goes all the way to developing what seems like a passive-aggressive religion for the bunnies, where their victimization in this world is rewarded with dominance in the next.
Occasional lapses in the universality of it, where it’s too easy to just say that it’s an allegory for growing up gay. Which is a shame, because the potential audience for the book is so much wider than that, and there’s a lot in it that invites all kinds of different interpretations. The entire last chapter is extremely interesting visually, but also seems to lose direction somewhat — I’ve got my own interpretation of what the book is saying, but I don’t feel extremely confident that what I’m seeing is what’s really there. And the very end of the book struck me as being sincere and genuine, but also a little trite, when compared to what precedes it.
More wisdom and insight than I’d ever have expected from a comic book like this, told with confidence, sincerity, and good humor. It’d be an outstanding book even if the art weren’t excellent.