RETRO: THE COMPLETE MAUS: A SURVIVOR'S TALE
The Pulitzer Prize-winning journal of Art Spiegelman's family and the ghosts of the Holocaust.

Writer and Artist: Art Spiegelman
Hardback collection
Published by Pantheon 1997 (Initial chapters of both volumes appeared in RAW publications beginning in 1980)
$35

Reviewed by Gregory Dickens

Him: "Just thinking about my book ... It's so presumptuous of me. I mean. I can't even make any sense out of my relationship with my father ... How am I supposed to make any sense out of Auschwitz? ... Of the Holocaust?

"... I feel so inadequate trying to reconstruct a reality that was worse than my darkest dreams. And trying to do it as a comic strip! ... There's so much I'll never be able to understand or visualize. I mean, reality is too complex for comics ... So much has to be left out or distorted."

Her: "Just keep it honest, honey."

So let's say you're Art Spiegelman, attempting to relate your father Vladek's story of survival in such a manner as MAUS, as you sway from fits of quiet awe to shuddering frustration over what he has become. How do you weed out hours of recorded sessions with him, to offer a first-hand testimony of what is regarded as the greatest criminal act of this century, when his behavior makes his memories suspect?

And let's say events transpire during these sessions that tint your perspective on the man and yourself. Not only as a son. Not only as a Jew. But as the son of a Holocaust survivor. Where does his story end and yours begin?

Spiegelman, to his credit and honor, gives us an unblinking account, and MAUS becomes a record of two generations who have to accept their survival in the silent faces of ghosts.

Realize this: MAUS is not a haunting book. It is a haunted book.

"Realize this: MAUS is not a haunting book. It is a haunted book"

MAUS is a story in three levels - Vladek's memories during World War II; Art's attempts to aid his father in his ailing health and package Vladek's testimony in comic form; and lastly, Spiegelman's effort to deal with what MAUS has become after the initial publications.

This is one of those stories requiring distinct spheres of occurrence that at times will blend, suggesting we escape nothing completely, nor experience anything solely by itself. The comic format offers a great many conventions to convey the experiences of all Spiegelmans involved. Without panels, gutters, narrative boxes and word balloons, MAUS could have been a morass of settings and voices, a whirlwind of times potentially losing its audience right out of the gate.

MAUS may have been possible without sequential art, but it would have lost potency without the searing balance of words and illustrations. Among all the to-do about what an emotional tale Spiegelman offers us, it's easy to lose sight of what a delicate and beautiful comic this is. The simple black and white line art sneaks up on you.

What you must accept about MAUS is the conceit -- there are no people, just different animals. Jews are mice, Germans are cats, Americans are dogs, Poles are pigs, the French are frogs. New characters are instantly identified by their nationalities; there is no mystery of allegiance, which is important in the midst of a war. However Jews pretending to be Poles are simply drawn as mice wearing pig masks, the drawstrings visible only to the reader. Art's French girlfriend is seen as a mouse because she converted to Judaism (for Vladek's happiness, it should be noted).

I take Spiegelman's conceit as easily as I do any other talking animal story, be it THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS, CHARLOTTE'S WEB or ANIMAL FARM. Orwell's book matches MAUS the closest in tone and purpose. Nothing is lost by replacing humans. The scale is man-sized, the suffering just as lucid, the dread as textured, the joys as tangible.

Spiegelman offers a quote at the beginning of MAUS II from a German newsletter equating Jews with the filthiest of vermin while denouncing Disney's Mickey Mouse and the adoration of such an animal. The animal convention then is just an extension. If we're mice, what are all of you then? Aren't we all animals? Wouldn't we have to be to do this?

The art carries this symbolism and branches forth. Panel grids are broken up by blueprints of hideaways, valuable commodities, concentration camps and timelines to immediately orient the reader without breaking the flow of the story. It's almost multimedia. Narrative begets instructional chart begets transitions and segues. Cigarette smoke in the present mixes with smoke from crematory chimneys. Shadowed, hanged corpses in the past blend with trees along a modern drive. The past, again, is never slipped.

There are two fine examples of this. First, Chapter 2 of MAUS II, titled 'Time Flies', introduces the flies swirling around figures within the story and then within the gutters of the comic. Flies are an ancient symbol of souls, often believed to be spirits themselves. Beelzebub was called "Lord of the Flies" because he directed the dead to the underworld.

As we see Art sitting at his drawing table, discussing the success of his book, we pull back to see the flies around him also diving about the bodies of dozens of dead Jews. It's a double-edged sign. These dead never decay from memory, and the ghosts from the corpses cannot rest and compete for the attentions of the living. As stated earlier, MAUS is a haunted book. This is Vladek and Art, never out of arm's reach of the Holocaust, never able to cut the cord from this dire mother that has made them what they are.

We also see Art outside the initial comic. (Imagine there are two MAUS comics, the one in various stages of progress throughout what you read, and the book you are reading.) Spiegelman has trouble accepting success at the expense of so much death, but he keeps the symbolism by depicting himself as a human wearing a mouse mask. Another invaluable use of the medium is Art regressing to a child's body as he wrestles with the power of his family's experience. He feels stunted, amber-encased in the past, himself encouraging this state by becoming famous from MAUS. Survivor's guilt is merged with achievement guilt.

"If no other comic can be hailed as literature, MAUS proves to those outside the business - and to the zombies and fanboys - what heights the medium can attain.. "

Spiegelman isn't just illustrating history to flesh out memory; he's making full use of the form. A crossroads forms a swastika, each option equally treacherous. Vladek recounts his early history while riding a stationary bicycle, an analogy for his inability to leave the past behind. MAUS is as clever as it is crushing.

As a comic then, what has MAUS done for the industry? Well, it did win a Pulitzer and you don't get much more mainstream credibility than that, without sacrificing the original material in an adaptation. If no other comic (and we can all name our favorites and most deserving) can be hailed as literature, especially compared to a non-fiction tome as this, MAUS proves to those outside the business - and to the zombies and fanboys -- what heights the medium can attain. It's proof to all of the validity of comic books as a means of expression and emotion.

If you want similar comics since MAUS, check the research-packed postulation of Jack the Ripper in Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell's FROM HELL, the trade paperback of which was just published. In the final chapter, 'The Dance of the Gull Catchers,' Moore traces the history of Ripperologists, including himself, and how their efforts magnify Jack's infamy. Also recommended is Daniel Clowes' GHOST WORLD, the most piercing coming-of-age story in a long while.

As "he" was advised, MAUS reads as brutally honest. Vladek is wracked. He suspects his second wife of wanting only his money, he scrimps and saves everything, his health relies on a flood of pills and his heart falters often. He moans constantly in his sleep, cannot sit still, and carries deep prejudices. Art fears that by truthfully depicting Vladek, he'll only reinforce the worst stereotypes of Jews.

If you can't swallow the animal veneers, just follow Vladek through the book. He's not a noble, perfect soul, having weathered the storm intact. His memories, while clear and detailed, are so full of coincidence, miracles and flat-out deus ex machina as to push credibility. He possesses more skills than a Navy SEAL and cajoles more opportunities than James Bond. But can it be said any of it is false? Who can say for a man like Vladek? He survived, didn't he? He's a shambles of a man, though, mourning still his first love and all those left behind.

Art begins MAUS as a method of learning more about his father - distinct from learning about his father's life. Spiegelman admits on the first page he's not close to Vladek and we learn that Art harbors grudges about never-ending comparisons to his "ghost brother", who died in Europe. He complains that the portrait of his Richieu "never threw tantrums or got in any kind of trouble ... It was an ideal kid, and I was a pain in the ass. I couldn't compete ... It's spooky having sibling rivalry with a snapshot."

Art stays with his father to capture his memories and extend a hand across their gap. And throughout the book, it's not an easy ride for either. Vladek has survived hell on earth - what can stop him now? He rants, he darts, he moves as he will and raises a ruckus without a thought. Art hasn't had a glimmer of the family Vladek has enjoyed and he needs that connection, despite what his father says and does. The desperation of the father in the past is mirrored in that of the son in the present.

That's what MAUS is ultimately about: common ground lost by ire. That extends from neighbors squawking, jealous lovers pleading, sons fuming and, of course, bodies rotting in gas and piles.

"You have to struggle for life," Vladek tells his dear Anja in Europe. "Until the last moments, we must struggle together!"

Sons and fathers do in MAUS. Against it all and each other, despite, and often because of common ground. MAUS is a declaration of why it all has meaning and what becomes of us, as sons and fathers, when all meaning is lost.

I was wrong. MAUS is a haunting book, after all.

Strongly Recommended

Gregory Dickens is a regular contributor to PopImage.

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