Comicsgirl

Magic Trixie #1 Buy at Amazon.com

Jill Thompson can do no wrong.

I mean, really, are you going to argue with that statement? To me, anyone who has a bad word to say about Thompson isn’t someone I want to associate with.

Which is to say Magic Trixie #1 (Harper Collins, 2008) is absolutely delightful.

As a sort of Scary Godmother Jr., Trixie is an adorable pink-haired moppet, a kindergarten-aged witch in training, dealing with her family’s tendency to pay more more to her baby sister than her. Her classmates and friends are vampires and zombies and a stuck-up werewolf serves as her rival. Her teacher is a ghost. Thompson’s ability to make all of this innocent and delightful is to her credit — there is absolutely nothing menacing about any of these characters.

Trixie’s a bit of a brat as she tries to get attention, but she’s easy to relate to, even for me (which may say more about my ability to empathize with 6-year-olds than anything else, of course). I love her attempts to try to outdo her baby sister and prove what a big girl she is. While her eventual understanding (and love) when it comes to her sister is obvious, it’s still a worthy and lovely lesson.

Thompson’s watercolors are bright and fluid. She has an eye that’s all her own — it’s animated and dynamic and always fun to follow. It’s cute and cartoony, sure, but it is always gorgeously rendered and I love studying the details.

I love Thompson’s unique touches — Trixie’s grandmother, who insists on being called Mimi (it’s explained a “Mimi” is “a Gramma that thinks if she’s never called the G-word, no one will know she’s a Gramma.”) and Trixie’s harried but loving family, which includes a purple-haired big sister and sweetly hip parents. Underneath the supernatural trappings, Trixie’s family is wonderfully recognizable.

(The back of the book says this is for ages 8-11, but that seems a little old to me. I’d gladly give this to my boyfriend’s 6-year-old niece.)

So yes, I love this, but that was basically a given. I’m happy we have Jill Thompson, no matter what she’s doing.

With all the talk of women in comics and comics for women that has gone on over the past few years, I’m always surprised that very few people brings up BoHoS. Unlike most comics aimed at teenage girls, this was actually written by one.

Published in 1998 by Flypaper Press/Image, writer Maggie Whorf tells the story of four friends — the contemplative Catherine, the sarcastic Amy, hippie Vicki and rock-star wannabe Stew — as they navigate late ’90s pop culture. References to Hanson, Kevin Smith movies and Dawson’s Creek do feel a little dated now, but the emotions and interactions between these friends still remains genuine. Byron Penaranda’s quirky angular style and the candy colors give the comic a bright and distinctive look. The issues also featured essays and commentaries by teenagers and women about topics ranging from dating to pop culture.

Inspired by the latest round of “women making comics for women,” I decided to track down Maggie Whorf to get her thoughts on her experiences with BoHoS via e-mail.

The comic had its origins after Whorf and two friends created a zine called “Whore-Hey,” which was “filled with the teen angst of three over-taught and highly privileged private school girls,” Whorf wrote, adding “We also said fuck. A lot.”

This, along with the fact that they were selling their zine on school grounds, led to some trouble for the three — they were suspended for three days. (The punishment “wasn’t very effective,” Whorf wrote and that the girls’ parents were proud.)

After attracting some media attention, Flypaper Press came calling and Whorf was the one to respond.

Whorf says she had creative control over the comic: “There was an amazing sense of freedom and my opinions were always respected. I was set up with a great editor and she taught me how to break down a scene and write with the panel in mind.” and that she “created the characters, the storylines and supervised the design.” She does admit “There were times I was treated like a commodity” but also understood “The story of a 16-year-old girl writing a comic book was the thing they could sell.” She wrote that she “loved it” and “felt very grown up” during the whole process.

After some movement on pitching it to production companies, Whorf headed off to college, thus ending her comic book career (for now, anyway).

I asked Whorf if she had been comic book fan previous to BoHoS and she wrote that she used to draw pictures of X-Men to sell to friends in elementary school and came back to comics through Tank Girl. She wrote that she’ll “always love Batman” and loved the Civil War run. Other than that, she hasn’t kept up with any of the other attempts to entice teenage girls to read comics, like DC’s Minx line. “That’s kind of shameful, isn’t it?” she wrote.

Whorf is currently working for “a large internet company” and writes a fashion blog call The Pudge.

I was delighted to be in touch with her and even more delighted to hear her experiences with BoHoS were good ones. As for the comic itself, it’s never been collected, but issues are pretty easy (and cheap!) to come by on eBay.

There have been lists of entry points and/or the best comics that did no feature a single female creator. And sure, men create plenty of amazing comics that are worth reading. But so do women.

Marvel is beginning a year-long initiative in 2010 about comics for and created by women. Even before I read about this, I had some thought in this direction: Great comics by women, worthy of being read by any comics fan, new or old.

On the first Wednesday of each month for the rest of 2010, I will profile a title that had a strong contribution by a woman, whether she was artist, writer or both. These won’t be reviews as much as it is a call to pick up these books and read them. If they’re on the list, I like them and I think they’re good. And I think you’ll like them too.

La Perdida Buy at Amazon.com

For January, I am starting with Jessica Abel‘s La Perdida (Pantheon Books, 2006).

I’d really like to say I picked this book for some specific reason — like it relates to the New Year because it deals with trying to start over, trying to find one’s self, or even because it’s really cold here right now so being in Mexico seems like a nice thought — but I didn’t. I really just picked it at random. But those reasons do work pretty well.

Carla travels to Mexico to try to reconnect with her father but mostly she’s there to try to find herself. She ditches her community of expatriate friends to ingratiate herself in Mexican culture. While she’s busy more-or-less playing tourist, real life intervenes. Carla isn’t always likable and she often gets in her own way with her naivete. She’s fun to watch, though.

Abel’s art reminds me, appropriately, of a travel sketch journal — her drawings are done in thick pen and ink and have a hurried feel, as if she needed to record events before they slipped away. There’s a beautiful immediacy to this book that’s incredibly satisfying and poignant.

Yes, this is maybe more a book you give your socially-conscious friends rather than your X-Men-reading friends, but I see nothing wrong with offering it to both. It’s imperfect, sure — some plot points felt a little rushed to me — but like all great literature, it’s thought-provoking. I’m actually going to hand my copy off to a friend to see what he thinks of it.