Fun Home

148

The Relationship between Alison and Bruce in Fun Home

February 15, 2021 by Essay Writer

Introduction

The memoir “Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic” by Alison Bechdel reminds me more of a fictional rather than “real” graphic memoir. Bruce, Alison’s dad seems like he is escaping from the world rather than in the reality due to his hidden identity, being homosexual. During Bruce’s time period, homosexuality was not acceptable. By secluding himself to the outside world, including his family was his only escape. Moreover, Alison chooses to combine the world around her with the world that she thinks that she is in. The relationship between Alison and Bruce is somewhat distant. Yet, they seem to be closer when they are discussing about literature books. Hence, this memoir is connected with literatures in every significant event that took place in this novel, including the reveal of their sexual identity.

The Image of Daedalus and Icarus

Bechdel opened up her story showing the readers how close her relationship is with her father. Bruce was doing the “airplane” game with Alison. However, she falls down soon after (Bechdel 3). She used the Greek mythology of Daedalus and Icarus to suggest that perhaps it isn ‘t only the child who can take Icarus’ position: ‘In our particular reenactment of this mythic relationship, it was not me but my father who was to plummet from the sky’ (Bechdel 4). Daedalus was the master of the craftsman. He made two pairs of wings out of wax and feathers for himself and his son, Icarus. Daedalus warned his son not to fly too close to the sun, or else it would melt the wings. Nor fly too low near the sea because it would make the wings hard to fly.

Consequently, Icarus didn’t listen to his father and flew too close to the sun where his wings melted and plummeted into the sea. This allusion made it seem like it was a metaphor for the relationship between Alison and Bruce. However, it was actually a reference stating Bruce was the one that flew too close to the sun and died. Bechdel made the opening scene seem like a positive father-daughter bond. Though, it was not the case. Daedalus tried his best to create wings for Icarus to escape; yet he still fell. Both Bruce and Daedalus wish the best for their family, but they don’t know how to properly attain it. For instance, Bruce was obsessed with decorating his old Gothic mansion. However, it seems like Bruce was trying to use this as an excuse for him to gain a sense of power over himself and his environment because of his hidden identity. Furthermore, because Bechdel has to compare Bruce to literary character hints that this is how they only are able to communicate to each other, and to get closer in their relationship.

Living Through the Daughter’s Life

Throughout this novel, Bruce appeared to want to live through his daughter’s life. For instance, Alison and Bruce’s life have always been about femininity versus masculinity, “It was a war of cross-purposes” (Bechdel 98). As Bruce was trying to expose his feminine side by using Alison as a proxy, Alison was trying to make up for the lack of masculinity her father showed. She noticed that her father’s taste is much more effeminate than her own. Thus, ties back to his obsession of beautifying the house. Conceivably because of Bruce is ashamed of his hidden identity, he uses Alison’s body as a body he will never have and enforce femininity upon her. Some of Bechdel’s illustrations display that Bruce forced Alison to wear barrettes in her hair and wears a dress. But Alison likes to keep her hair short and dress comfortably. He forced Alison to become someone she is not. At the end of the novel, Bruce revealed that he has always wanted to be a girl. Due to the facts above, it made Bruce, the character more fictional than “real”. Moreover, the time period that he lived in, homosexuality was not acceptable by the society. Therefore, living through someone else’s life was the only choice. I feel sympathetic towards Bruce because he can never become the person he has always wanted to be.

The Books Bruce and Alison Read

Furthermore, the books that Bruce reads in his lifetime shows it was fictional and much more different than Alison’s books. Some of Bruce’s reading novels were “Anna Karenina,” “A Happy Death,” “Remembrance of Things Past,” and “The Great Gatsby,” while Alison’s books were “Our Right To Love,” “Homosexualities,” “Delta of Venus,” and “the Well of Loneliness.” One major difference in Bruce’s reading novels is that they are mainly fictional, classics and the connection to the theme death. However, in Alison’s reading book, it was more about the reality and the world she is in. I think this is one of the main reasons why Alison sees her parents “most real in fictional terms” (Bechdel 67). Additionally, Alison thinks the house looks like it’s from the Addams Family, and she has a hard time relating to her parents. She even pairs Bruce to Jimmy Gatsby, with his “self-willed metamorphosis.” Alas, Alison’s parents is fictional to her, and it appears that Bruce goes into these fictional worlds to escape from his unhappy reality and hide his true identity and sexuality, whereas Alison’s books assist her to understand the world she is in. Finally, I feel that Alison’s childhood didn’t appear to be a reality to her, and the novels she read helped her come to terms with what is possibly most real to her, her sexuality.

Being Uncertain about the Reality

Throughout the memoir, the words, “I think” was mentioned several times in her diary. This conveys that she was uncertain about some of the events that happened in her life, and nothing around her seems to be sincerely “real.” For example, she refers her menstruation as “Ning” (Bechdel 169). Due to the fact that she always wanted to be a boy, she finds her menstruation to be too feminine and embarrassing. Therefore, she ignores it and converts it with letters. Though she is able to avoid her discomfort. However, at the same time, she is demolishing her reality.

Conclusion

Literature became the mediator of bringing Alison and Bruce’s relationship one step closer. While she admits the connection and her intimacy with her father is abnormal to others, she still seems to enjoy and appreciate it. Also, Bruce opening up to Alison about his sexuality made him seem like he’s able to accept of who he is and not be ashamed anymore. Bechdel illustrated him as he was finally trying to stop escaping from reality and trying to build a relationship between Alison and him. Alison does grieve that they “were close. But not close enough” (Bechdel 225). Nonetheless, despite the fact that they were not as close as she wanted them to be, she treasures that “he was there to catch [her] when [she] leapt” (Bechdel 232), which is shown at the end of the novel when she jumped off the diving board into Bruce’s arm.

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199

The Portrayal of Father/Daughter Relationship in the Fun Home

October 23, 2020 by Essay Writer

A significant aspect explored by Alison Bechdel in Fun Home is her relationship with her father, Bruce. During her childhood, there seems to be constant friction between Bechdel and Bruce and she applies the Daedalus-Icarus metaphor to depict her relationship with her father. However, when Bechdel finds out that her father is a closeted gay man, she tries to understand her open lesbian identity in relation to his identity, realizing that the mythic metaphor does not actually hold. At the centerfold of Fun Home, Bechdel places a two-page spread of a photograph of her babysitter Roy, taken by her father, which she comes across after Bruce’s death. As she tries to look at the picture through Bruce’s eyes, she feels connected to him. This pivotal moment divides the text into two parts, and allows Bechdel to revisit and re-characterize her relationship with her father in the second part after she has already characterized it in the first part. Thus, the recursive nature of Bechdel’s narrative, chronologically fragmented by the use of repetition, allows Bechdel to re-examine her relationship with her father in terms of the mythic metaphor she applies to it.

Bruce’s sudden death before Bechdel can begin exploring her relationship with him leads to her having to find means to understand his identity after his death. Bechdel finds out about her father’s sexual identity through a phone conversation with her mother while she is coming out about being lesbian. This comes as a shock to her system, but she then realizes that she shares a deeper connection with her father than she had expected as they both face a sexual identity crisis. One of the ways she explores Bruce’s identity is through photographs, in particular the photograph her father takes of Roy that she comes across after his death.

The non-chronological structure and recursive narrative of Fun Home lead Bechdel to place this moment of connection at the heart, or the center, of the text rather than at the end. It serves as a pivotal point in the book, after which her employment of the Daedalus-Icarus

myth as a metaphor for her relationship with her father is viewed with a refreshed perspective. The perspective change occurs after she realizes her connection with her father, and she thus restores his sexual identity to its proper place in her memory before re-examining their relationship. This allows her to juxtapose her interpretation of the Daedalus-Icarus myth metaphor related to her and her father before and after she learns about and understands his sexual identity. Thus, she places these panels before and after the pivotal moment respectively.

Bechdel 100-101

The photograph of Roy is visual and material evidence of the parallel life Bruce had been living. Emphasizing the picture’s capacity to disrupt her family, which is what Bruce feared all his life, Bechdel places the strips of negatives depicting her and her brothers playing on the beach immediately after the picture of Roy. However, the proximity of these ostensibly disparate images offers evidence to her father simultaneous inhabitance of two different worlds. The image of Roy is given much more emphasis by enlarging it into a two-fold spread as compared to the thin panel depicting the strips of negatives appearing on the next page. This depicts the fact that her father’s real life and true identity lay in the life that he was trying to cover up, his life as a closeted gay individual, not the “ideal husband and father” (17) that he appeared to be. By placing the image of Roy at the centerfold, Bechdel is acknowledging the significance of her father’s hidden identity in understanding his behavior during her childhood memories, and subsequently, her relationship with him in the past.

The various visual elements of the picture highlight its emotional significance. The frame includes Bechdel’s hand holding the picture, creating a sense that she is trying to see through her father’s eyes. Relying on the photograph’s aesthetics to find its deeper meaning, Bechdel says, ““The blurriness of the photo gives it an ethereal, painterly quality. Roy is gilded with morning seaside light. His hair is an aureole”. This description of the image in a textbox shows Bechdel viewing of the photograph as framed through her father’s sexual desire. When she finds the photograph, she seems to be able to connect with the man behind the camera and the fact that she is able to establish this connection through the photograph surprises her. She acknowledges that “the picture is beautiful” and wonders why she is “not properly outraged” as she might be if the picture was of a seventeen-year-old girl instead. She says, “Perhaps I identify too well with my father’s illicit awe” .

The connection stems from Bechdel’s realization of the fact that she and her father have an “inverted Oedipal complex”, which she discusses in the last few pages of the book. Due to this complex, she sees that “while [she] was trying to compensate for something unmanly in him, he was attempting to express something feminine through [her]”. Immediately preceding the image of Roy, Bechdel time shifts to when she was a child and describes her father’s and her shared interest in the image of a young man posing in an Esquire magazine fashion spread – she wants the suit, while her father wants the boy, and in anticipation of the scene to follow, there is another layered set of gazes as she holds the magazine and her father watches the image over her shoulder. The image of Roy inverts this structure as Bechdel draws herself holding the photograph that gives her access to what her father saw, as though she were looking over his shoulder. In both cases, she cannot separate herself from her father’s sexuality.

Bechdel’s first extended consideration of her relationship with her father, through a reference to the Daedalus-Icarus myth, appears at the very outset of Fun Home – this first consideration is the way Bechdel perceived their relationship while she was growing up. One of the first scenes depicted in Fun Home is of Bruce balancing a nine or ten year old Bechdel on his foot, in a rendition of the game “Airplane”.

Bechdel depicts herself visually as ‘tumbling’, thus depicting the Icarus legend traditionally with herself in the Icarus, the overly ambitious position. Just as Icarus is trying to get close to the sun, Bechdel is trying to experience proximity with her father; and just as Daedalus warns Icarus not to get too close, Bruce also seems closed off to Bechdel’s efforts to get close to him. She describes the position she is balancing in as uncomfortable, but “well worth the rare physical contact” she had with her father. Bechdel carries forward this metaphor and compares Bruce to Daedalus, as she describes how he is more concerned with restoring the house than with his own children. He is so caught up with his project, that he fails to acknowledge his role as a father to his children; rather, he uses them as ‘hands’ to aid in his projects – “Daedalus too, was indifferent to the human cost of his projects”. We see Bechdel’s lack of connection with her father, as she is unable to understand his obsession with his restoration project.

Bruce’s obsession with a perfect outward appearance stems from the fact that he is ashamed of his sexual identity; he tries to protect his family by making sure that the fact that he is gay remains hidden. Bechdel says, “He used his skillful artifice not to make things, but to make things appear to be what they were not. That is to say, impeccable”. By attempting to portray his family and his home as ideal, Bruce is trying to compensate for the shame he feels, and fears that his family’s image can be ruined in society due to his being gay.

Bruce’s shame about his own sexual identity leads to him fearing the fact that his daughter is a lesbian, rather than supporting it. Thus, as he tries to force Bechdel to have “pink, flowery curtains” in her room, as if imposing femininity on her, there is friction between the two, because Bechdel does not know about her father’s closeted gay identity. Bruce is so afraid of people finding out that he is gay that he tries to make his family appear to be perfect, placing Bechdel within the stereotypical confines of being a girl. Bechdel feels as though her father is restricting her, just as Daedalus tried to restrict Icarus from flying too close to the sun for his own good.

Daedalus advises Icarus to prevent his downfall; in Fun Home, it is not immediately clear in the first reference to the myth how exactly Bruce is ‘saving’ or ‘helping’ his family by his obsession with outward appearances. However, when Bechdel circles back to the myth at the end of the text, after the pivotal point of connection, it finally falls into place. The panel depicted at the end of the text is very similar to the one depicted at the beginning; in both images Bechdel lies above her father, her arms outstretched, as though she were flying.

Bechdel 232

Bechdel ends her story with the phrase, “He did hurtle into the sea, of course. But in the tricky reverse narration that impels our entwined stories, he was there to catch me when I leapt”. She realizes that Bruce was there for her during his life much more than she thought, and thus she needs to recreate her childhood memories with this new understanding. Before the pivotal moment when Bechdel finally understands her father’s actions, she characterizes herself as Icarus and her father as Daedalus. Icarus’ failure in escaping due to his wings melting can be compared to the missed connection that Bechdel feels as a child in her relationship with Bruce.

However, she says, “In our particular reenactment of this mythic relationship, it was not me but my father who was to plummet from the sky”. Here, Bechdel is suggesting that her relationship with her father, in retrospect, did not actually follow the path of Daedalus and Icarus’ relationship and the metaphor deteriorates as they both can occupy Icarus’ position, but unlike Icarus, they are freed from their respective ‘prisons’ successfully without drowning. She places the picture of the truck in the panel to emphasize the sudden death of her father just as they begin opening up to each other, just like the sudden death of Icarus when he is flying. However, unlike Icarus’ death, which occurs at a moment where he is feeling most liberated as he flies close to the sun, Bruce’s death is a form of liberation for him, as during his life he is limited by the fact that he cannot be open about his sexual identity. Bruce dies shortly after she tells him she is a lesbian and learns about him being gay through a phone conversation with her mother. Since she has no time to explore her relationship with him while he is alive, her only way to do so is to re-examine her existing memories of him.

Bechdel realizes that her father was in fact there for her even though she did not recognize it earlier. Just as Daedalus gave Icarus wings as an opportunity to escape, Bruce also gives Bechdel ‘wings’ by introducing her to the world of literature, so she can explore and understand her identity as a lesbian. He suggested that she read Colette, a proud lesbian’s, autobiography. A conversation that Bruce and Bechdel have in the car on the way to the theatre, that occurs after the pivotal point in the second half of the text unfolds as such:

Alison: Did you know what you were doing when you gave me that Colette book?

Bruce: What? Oh. I didn’t, really… it was just a guess… I guess there was some kind of… identification..

Bruce does ‘save’ Bechdel by giving her a voice through literature. During her time at college, she discovers herself by reading lesbian literature, which liberates her as it allow her to understand her true lesbian identity. She describes her realization of the fact that she is a lesbian as a “revelation not of the flesh, but of the mind”. We see that Bechdel does not mirror Icarus because unlike him, she uses the opportunity her father gives her well and uses literature to discover her identity. Thus, unlike Icarus, Bechdel does not fall and drown; instead, she manages to find her voice, which she realizes is linked to her father as he is the one who introduced her to it, and thus she feels connected to him.

Bechdel characterizes her story as a “tricky reverse narration” that propels her story forward. The structure of Fun Home depicts a new understanding of the past– the first half of the book, ranging from chapters 1 to 3 shows Bechdel’s recollection of memories before she finally manages to establish a connection with her father. The second half of the book, after the pivotal moment of the picture of Roy that occurs in chapter 4, depicts Bechdel’s recreation of the memories. Thus, the narration is tricky and reverse, because it takes readers through the process by which Bechdel explores her past after finding out about Bruce’s gay identity, juxtaposed with her actual reactions while she experienced her memories chronologically. Through chronological fragmentation created by the repetition and re-examination of memories, Bechdel manages to understand her relationship with Bruce, that she earlier thought was like Daedalus and Icarus, but then she realizes that they do share a deeper connection that was not shared in the mythic relationship. However, although she does manage to find a connection, it is only limited to the past memories that she can explore again with this new perspective. She will always carry the ‘what if’ to how much more her relationship with her father could have developed had he still been alive.

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125

Lacan’s Mirror Stage and Fun Home

October 23, 2020 by Essay Writer

The graphic novel Fun Home by Alison Bechdel opens with a series of panels portraying how she and her father used to play airplane. At the same time, Bechdel makes a connection between them playing airplane and the myth of Icarus and Daedalus. It is important to note that what Alison and her father are doing in this scene is role-playing. One of them has to be the support while the other one flies. It is a role-playing game, but nevertheless a game, and both of them appear very serious while playing it. Alison gets to fly, just as Icarus, while playing this game, but that is not necessarily true in their daily lives outside the airplane game. Bechdel says that “in [their] particular re-enactment of this mythic relationship, it was not [her], but [her] father who was to plummet from the sky” (Bechdel p. 4). This puts into question who of them is the father in their relationship. The mixed-up parallels between Alison, her father, Icarus, and Daedalus highlight the unclear relationship of power between Alison and her dad.

The conflicts between them were almost always caused by her father trying to solve his personal problems through her. He wants her to dress very feminine because that is something that he never got to do. He fails to acknowledge that her daughter is also going through stuff of her own. Instead of playing the role of a father, he is putting all the pressure on Alison to be his and her own father at the same time. The father gets to fly as Icarus supported by Alison as Daedalus constantly and Alison can’t keep up with that. Whenever Alison wants to open up to her father, the conversation turns toward her father’s issues. During the scene in the car (p. 220), after Alison tries to find out if her father knew she was gay all this time, his father only focuses on himself and dismisses Alison’s questions. The book that she thought he was trying to give her as a guide for self-discovery was actually a way of introducing himself. Because in the end, everything was about him. That is when Bechdel questions which of them was the father because she is doing all the parental listening (p. 221).

Bechdel concludes the novel with a scene at the pool playing with his father (p. 230-32). While the scene is going on, she narrates her own reasoning regarding paternity and her relationship with her father. It was not as simple as her being the father to her own father. Their relationship was tricky and they both, especially the father, benefited from each other to find out their own identities. Bechdel tries to uncover to the reader the nature of their relationship by juxtaposing the pool scene with both Ulysses and the legend of Icarus. She feels like her father sacrificed a lot that did not belong to him for his own sake, just as Joyce sacrificed Beach’s financial stability for Ulysses (p. 230-1). At the same time, his father was Icarus and flied too close to the sun, but “he was always there to catch [Alison] when [she] leapt” (p. 232). The novel ends with them playing in the pool together, as expressionless as when they played airplane.

This unclear relationship is further distorted by Bechdel’s act of writing a story about her father, in which she has ultimate control over how she crafts his character. Taking into consideration Lacan’s Mirror Stage, Alison’s father establishes his ego as fundamentally dependent upon external objects or others. Through books, he creates an “ideal” self of who he thinks he is or should be. As the idea he has in his head does not coincide with his experiences, he needs Alison to fill that inconsistency. He dressed Alison very femininely when she was a little girl because that is who he wanted to be. His idea self or identity is within those books and not in his person, that is why he introduces himself by giving Alison the books that have helped him form his identity or his imagos. The father’s encounter with the “other” ends up being in books and sometimes other men, that makes him unable to be himself with his own family and strains and distorts his relationship with Alison.

The parallels that Alison makes between her and her father, and Icarus and Daedalus are no longer parallels. They are a far more complicated than the initial simplistic comparison. The confusion that Bechdel creates about who is who throughout the novel reflects her own confusion regarding her relationship with her father. The fact that us as readers cannot get closure is also representative of Bechdel’s anxiety of never getting an answer herself.

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231

Comparison: Michel Foucault’s “Repressive Hypothesis” & Alison Bechdel’s “Fun Home”

October 23, 2020 by Essay Writer

Michel Foucault begins his essay “We ‘Other’ Victorians” with a description of what he calls the “repressive hypothesis” (Foucault 10). This hypothesis holds that openly expressing sexuality at the beginning of the seventeenth century was considered shameless. Transitioning into the Victorian era and with the development of the Victorian bourgeoisie, sexuality began to take on an entirely different meaning. Any physical act or visual representation of sexuality with a purpose separate from procreation became considered “illegitimate,” paving the way to a generation of repressive silence (Foucault 3). In modern American culture, it can be argued that society has “liberated [itself] from those two long centuries in which the history of sexuality [has been] seen first of all as the chronicle of an increasing repression,” but to assume this position is to assume that the repressive hypothesis is accurate, and the Victorians were in fact sexually repressed (Foucault 5). Foucault challenges this stance, arguing that the Victorians were more sexually liberated than modern society generally considers them to have been. Rather, this consideration is based on a sense of sovereignty that can be gained from triumphing over a repressive force by engaging in any activity widely considered to be taboo. In Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home, Alison’s indulgence in lesbian literature and experience within the gay community rewards her with a sense of liberation. In considering Foucault’s “repressive hypothesis,” this could be based on Alison experiencing a sudden sense of freedom due to breaking away from the sexual repression of our Victorian ancestors. The intent of this essay is to investigate Alison’s invigorating exploration of sexual identity through language, physical expression, and satisfaction gained from a sense of community.

Foucault argues that during the Victorian period, there was a shift from considering sexuality as behaviour-based to identity-based, as a number of identity categories came to light. Partly due to this historical shift, Alison comes to terms with her sexual identity through discourse before actually engaging in sexual intimacy with another woman, experiencing “a revelation not of the flesh, but of the mind” (Bechdel 74). Alison spends a great deal of time in the library researching lesbian-friendly books such as Word is Out: Stories of Some of our Lives by Nancy Adair, and The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hill. In this passage, Alison recalls that she “first learned the word [lesbian] due to its alarming prominence in [her] dictionary” (Bechdel 74). Following this discovery, Alison begins to identify with the word and accepts its importance in the definition of her identity. According to author Timothy Murphy, “some scholars … assert that in their modern form, [gay and lesbian] identities were created in the medical and sexological discourses of the late 18th century” (Murphy 598). Therefore, the word “lesbian” did not exist in pre-Victorian discourse, whereas it is prominent in Alison’s 21st century discourse, and plays a deciding factor in her conceptualization of personal identity. Elsa, a character in one of the books represented in this passage, was born in 1898 and “never had that crossing-over crisis that people talk about these days – the feeling that you have to have some kind of an indoctrination or trauma, or a coming-out ritual” (Bechdel 74). This clearly shows the generation gap regarding discourse between the Victorian times and Alison’s modern day.

Foucault stresses modern society’s emphasis on overcoming sexual repression in order to feel liberated and powerful. In this passage of Fun Home, there are examples of Alison acting in concordance with Foucault’s repressive hypothesis. Following her identification with the word “lesbian,” Alison “screwed up [her] courage and bought” a gay-friendly book, “and soon [she] was trolling even the public library, heedless of the risks” (Bechdel 75). The risks in question are undoubtedly based around societal acceptance of homosexuality. As she continues her journey of coming out, Alison attends a meeting of the “Gay Union,” then proceeds to come out to her parents (Bechdel 75-76). Each of these instances represents an urge to fight the “repressive” societal forces persuading her against publically declaring her sexual orientation. Foucault challenges the idea of power being a “top-down” model in which those at the top hold the power, and those at the bottom are subject to it. Rather, Foucault theorizes power as a set of fluid, communal relations. Alison’s sense of power in this passage comes from community: a community of gay authors, and a community of people at “Gay Union.” Like Foucault, Bechdel is challenging the concept of a power hierarchy, proving that experience within a community of people has the ability to foster a strong sense of individual power. Following her public declarations, Alison feels “exhilarated” and in a “tremulous state” as she experiences a rewarding a sense of power and authority over her identity (Bechdel 76).

Following the stress on discourse and publicity, Bechdel begins to place emphasis on the physicality of Alison’s revelation regarding her sexual identity. She describes her experience in the library, stating that she “found a four-foot trove in the stacks which [she] quickly ravished,” a sentence with obvious sexual connotation. This wordplay is followed by physical indulgence, as “it became clear that [she] was going to have to leave [the] academic plane and enter the human fray” (Bechdel 76). Alison’s epiphany is supported by an image of her masturbating while reading Delta of Venus by Anais Nin. By transitioning from literature to physicality, Alison is taking the final steps in her journey to understanding herself and formulating her identity. From this point on, she begins experimenting physically with her partner Joan in college without worrying about the societal consequences: “Joan was a poet and a ‘matriarchist.’ I spent very little of the remaining semester outside her bed” (Bechdel 80). Such a strong physical revelation may not have been possible for Alison without first relating to lesbian discourse. Even during physical experience, she and Joan merge literature with sex, as the bed was “strewn with books, however, in what was for me a novel fusion of word and deed” (Bechdel 80). At this point, discourse becomes sexual, and sexuality becomes dependant on literature.

Alison is acting in concordance with the repressive hypothesis on a variety of different levels. She seeks identity through discourse, publicizing her sexual orientation, and engaging in physically sexual acts. Foucault defines “the relationship between sex and power in terms of repression: something that one might call the speaker’s benefit. If sex is repressed, that is, condemned to prohibition, nonexistence, and silence, then the mere fact that one is speaking about it has the appearance of a deliberate transgression” (Foucault 6). Although Alison is living in the midst of gay revolution, homosexuality is not fully considered socially acceptable (and still is not today). Because homosexuality is still repressed, Alison is engaging in a “deliberate transgression” by acting out in a taboo fashion. This allows her to exercise power over her identity in her own right, rather than this power being possessed by an external entity. Foucault is presenting his “repressive hypothesis” by disagreeing with it. Despite this, the concept is highly applicable to Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home, as Bechdel has developed her character, Alison, as a representation of those people who agree with the “repressive hypothesis” by having her behave in concordance with fighting the subjugation it outlines.

Works Cited

Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home : A Family Tragicomic. New York: Mariner, 2006.

Foucault, Michel. “We ‘Other’ Victorians.” History of Sexuality. New York: Vintage Publishing, 1990. 3-13.

Murphy, Timothy. Reader’s Guide to Lesbian and Gay Studies. Chicago: Fitzroy Dearborn, 2000.

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Recasting Gender Roles: Subversive Identities in Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home

June 10, 2019 by Essay Writer

Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home challenges both established gender roles and heteronormative identities. Gender is shown to be constructed, assigned through Western standards, and then practiced through performance. Bechdel’s graphic novel explores the destruction of feminine female/masculine male gender binaries and proposes a more fluid understanding of identity. In her book Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, theorist Judith Butler proposes that gender is not natural or innate, but rather a performance that is learned and repeated to “create the illusion of an innate and stable [gender] core.” Furthermore, gender is a construct, designed to benefit a patriarchal, heteronormative social structure. In Fun Home, Alison Bechdel challenges the binaries that represent a “dualistic vision usually in service of some form of essentialism”[1] (Marinucci 127). Following the concept of essentialism,[2] the dominant binary “refers to the coalescence of gender, sex, and sexuality into exactly two fundamentally distinct natural kinds: men and women”[3] (Marinucci 127). Natural kinds “depicts an orderly world that divides into thoroughly informative categories inclusive of all phenomena without leftovers or crossovers”[4] (Marinucci 127).

Fun Home, then, is a novel of “crossovers”, of subversions and inversions of the performed identities. The narrator describes Alison’s Bruce’s sexual identities as “inversions of one another”. Theorist Julia Watson explains that “inversions” refers to both “the derogatory psychoanalytic term of the early century [for homosexuality] that Proust used but also as inverted versions of each other in the family”[5] (Watson 135). She argues that the narrator “presents Alison’s rejection of femininity as a compensation for her father’s lack of manliness, and his insistence on her dressing and acting ‘feminine’ as a projection of his own desire to perform femininity”[6] (Watson 135). Referencing Michael Proust, “[the term “invert”] is imprecise and insufficient, defining the homosexual as a person whose gender expression is at odds with his or her sex”[7] (Bechdel 97). But the narrator offers another development: “But in the admittedly sample comprising my father and me, perhaps it is sufficient”[8] (Bechdel 97). Bechdel shows several scenes where Bruce tries to force Alison’s into a feminine gender role. In one scene where Bruce and Alison are both dressing up for an event, Bruce criticizes Alison’s dress, saying, “You can’t go out to dinner like that. You look like a missionary”[9] (Bechdel 98). He demands that she wear pearls; when she refuses, Bruce yells, “What’re you afraid of? Being beautiful? Put it on, goddamnit!”[10] (Bechdel 99). Although the narrator imply that the motivation is for himself, Bruce tries to force a gendered appearance in his daughter.

In a similar scene, Alison has returned from an afternoon with her male cousins and her father reproaches her for not wearing a barrete. Called “butch” by her male cousins, Alison criticizes her father as a “sissy”, a designation of the identity he forces on her. As Bruce represses Alison’s early shows of masculinity, he expresses the femininity within himself through her. In the strikingly literal mirror scene, father and daughter stand next to each other facing the mirror, Alison muses, Not only were we inverts, we were inversions of one another. While I was trying to compensate for something unmanly in him…he was attempting to express something feminine through me[11] (Bechdel 98). As Watson puts it, the narrator frames this negotiation by which she and her father displaced onto each other versions of conventional femininity and masculinity as a way of enacting their refusal of conventional heteronormative gender roles. In this version of the coming-out story, there is no simple narrative of rebellion against parental strictures by transgressive performance; rather she and her father are linked in both a contest of wills and a deep affinity of desires[12] (Watson 136). Recalling young men from her childhood, Alison identifies the ideal masculinity she craves.

Bechdel challenges cultural expectations by commandeering terms of queer identification and performing the associated identity, particularly the masculine designation “butch”. Butler posits that for some the use of such terms seems to demonstrate heterosexuality by creating heterosexual roles in homosexual relationships. However, she says “the terms queens, butches, femmes, girls, even the parodic reappropriation of dyke, queer, and fag redeploy and destabilize the categories of sex and the originally derogatory categories for homosexual identity”[13] (Butler 156). Butler suggests that the structuring presence of heterosexual constructs within gay and lesbian sexuality does not mean that those constructs determine gay and lesbian sexuality…but they can and do become the site of parodic contest and display that robs compulsory heterosexuality of its claims to naturalness and originality[14] (Butler 158). The rift between homosexuality and heterosexuality is arbitrary; to assert homosexuality as divergent from heterosexuality is to be complicit with the repression and segregation. Alison’s expression of masculinity challenges the heteronormative understanding of gender. There is one scene in Fun Home that is pivotal for the development of Alison’s lesbian identity. Bruce and Alison are lunching together at a truck stop restaurant when they see “a most unsettling sight”[15] (Bechdel 117): a butch woman steps into the diner and Alison’s gaze is drawn to her. According to Marinucci, a butch woman is a woman who “exhibit[s] a traditionally masculine personal style without identifying as trans”[16] (Marinucci 125). This moment is critical for Alison because for the first time she can recognizes the female masculinity of her own identification: “like a traveler in a foreign country who runs into someone from home – someone they’re never spoken to, but know by sight – I recognized her with a surge of joy”[17] (Bechdel 118). In another scene, an older Alison and her friend Beth play drag in Bruce’s clothes; the childish play “[feels] too good to actually be good”[18] (Bechdel 182). Alison subverts the hegemonic gender model because “in imitating gender, drag implicitly reveals the initiative structure of gender itself – as well as its contingency”. In Alison’s refusal of forced heteronormative behaviors, Bechdel “rewrites features of that narrative to insist on her cross-gender identification with the repressed desire that underlay her father’s overt heterosexual conformity”[19] (Watson 139).

Further, Alison’s recasting of her gender role proves that gender is a performance – a performance that is an imitation of other performances, inherently subversive because it shows the illusory nature of identity. Bechdel focuses on the performativity of gender. The panel where Alison resists Bruce’s policing of her appearance is set in the chapter titled “Old Father, Old Artificer”, which introduces Bruce’s “monomaniacal restoration of our old house”[20] (Bechdel 4). Alison seems to suggest that her father obsession with order and design were fueled by his repression. Bruce is described as an expert of appearances: “He used his skillful artifice not to make things, but to make things appear to be what they were not. That is to say, impeccable”[21] (Bechdel 16). Alison’s gender performance is as meticulously constructed by him as the “perfect” home they live in, much like Bruce’s identity as “an ideal husband and father” is constructed. The success of Bruce’s identity as perfect husband and father is connected to his family’s perfectly performed identities. The narrator admits, “when things were going well, I think my father actually enjoyed having a family. Or at least, the air of authenticity we lent to his exhibit”[22] (Bechdel 13). Bruce imposes gender expectations on Alison to further mask his own closeted desires and to support and preserve the public image of respectability and heterosexual conformity. The narrator perceives her father’s adornments as “embellishments in the worst sense. They were lies”[23] (Bechdel 17). Bruce does his best to convincingly perform his role to create at least the appearance of a socially acceptable identity.

Butler argues that an individual can only have a gender by performing it: In other words, acts, gestures, and desire produce the effect of an internal core or substance, but produce this on the surface of the body, through the play of signifying absences that suggest, but never reveal, the organizing principle of identity as a cause. Such acts, gestures, enactments, generally construed, are performative in the sense that the essence or identity that they otherwise purport to express are fabrications manufactured and sustained through corporeal signs and other discursive means[24] (Butler 173). With Fun Home, Bechdel dissects the performativity and artifice of identity, subverting cultural expectations of gender, and exposing identity as behavior. Bruce and Alison are characters are inversions of each other, yet linked through their subversive gender identities. Alison’s story, as Watson so adeptly writes, “retrospectively offers Bruce an identity alternative to the one he has lived, based in rigid repression and fear of being branded as perverse and criminal”[25] (Watson 139). In the end, the two inversions, converge: Bruce’s end becomes Alison’s beginning.

[1] Marinucci, Mimi. Feminism in Queer: The Intimate Connection between Queer and Feminist Theory. (London: Zed Books, 2010). [2] “Essentialism” is the belief that considers “unique female and male natures where the difference between women and men are essences assumed to be biological, universal, and natural”. [3] Marinucci, Mimi. Feminism in Queer: The Intimate Connection between Queer and Feminist Theory. [4]Marinucci, Mimi. Feminism in Queer: The Intimate Connection between Queer and Feminist Theory. [5] Watson, Julia. “Autographic Disclosures and Genealogies of Desire in Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home”. (Wisconsin: U. of Wisconsin Press, 2011). [6] Watson, Julia. “Autographic Disclosures and Genealogies of Desire in Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home”. [7] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. (New York: Mariner Book, 2007). [8] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic [9] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [10] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [11] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [12] Watson, Julia. “Autographic Disclosures and Genealogies of Desire in Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home”. [13] Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. (London: Routledge, 1990). [14] Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. [15] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [16] Marinucci, Mimi. Feminism in Queer: The Intimate Connection between Queer and Feminist Theory. [17] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [18] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [19] Watson, Julia. “Autographic Disclosures and Genealogies of Desire in Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home”. [20] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [21] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [22] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [23] Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic. [24] Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. [25] Watson, Julia. “Autographic Disclosures and Genealogies of Desire in Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home”.

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297

Suspension of the Imaginary in the Real: Fiction as Truth in the Memoir

May 23, 2019 by Essay Writer

In its creation and consumption, literature involves an inherent contract between reader and author. The parameters of this contract are often set by the work’s genre, and help the reader to determine whether the text should be interpreted as truth or imagination. When an author blurs this distinction, the reader considers the contract violated, and material that, under different contractual expectations, would be considered harmlessly fictitious instead becomes maliciously deceitful. Conflict almost always arises when readers discover fiction lurking beneath expectations of truth – the sacred boundaries of genre dependent on a razorblade division between fact and fiction.

Of course, any such distinction has always been impossible, genre attempting in vain to erect tenuous partitions between the ultimately inseparable principles of truth and invention in the represented world. Before the generic distinction between fiction and non-fiction had been established, even presumably “pure” fiction itself was met with skepticism, and in its earliest days, the novel was decried as deceitful, sinful, and corrupt. Based on the inherently paradoxical principle of verisimilitude, the novel devotes itself to the representation of that which is like reality, but is, in fact, fiction. Thus, even in its simplest, most recognizable form, narrative inextricably mixes fact and fiction, the real and the imagined, rendering it impossible for any author to satisfactorily separate the two.

This conflict is only further compounded in the memoir genre. While authors often fail to fulfill the expectations outlined by even clearest of generic distinctions, the boundaries of memoir are obscure from the outset. Generically distinct from autobiography, memoir does not necessarily promise non-fiction, but still presumably relates the real experiences of real individuals. Through memoir, both Maxine Hong Kingston and Allison Bechdel explore the tentative boundary between truth and fiction, both ultimately seeing the latter as a means of discovering and conveying the former. In unapologetically mixing fact and fiction, The Woman Warrior and Fun Home highlight the ultimately arbitrary nature of genre.

These memoirs illustrate the truth as equally dependent on what did happen, and what did not happen or may not have happened. In The Woman Warrior, Kingston extends this principle to speech, and her narrative builds meaning as much through what is said as through what is not said. Noting the importance of silence in the memoir, Jill Parrott remarks: Scenes without verbal communication, words that are not spoken purposefully, or words that are changed or left out serve as important a function in the overall rhetorical strategy of the text as the words that are expressed. They are “simultaneously meaningful” in that they exist side-by-side on the page and work together to form the complete meaning-making artifact of the text. (377). Indeed, silence – at least in principle if not in practice – can even be said to dominate The Woman Warrior, the memoir itself opening with the silencing command, “You must not tell anyone what I am about to tell you” (Kingston 3). In this opening section, Kingston establishes the power of silence through its use as a weapon. The eponymous “No Name Woman” of the introductory narrative, Kingston’s unnamed aunt, becomes the victim of silence. In an attempt to erase any memory of her existence, her family forbids any mention of her name, or – in Parrott’s Foucauldian terminology – “the family forcefully suppresses the linguistic representation of her name, dehumanizing her and symbolically denying her existence” (378). Thus, for Kingston’s family, silence – that which is not said – makes as powerful a statement as any vocalized or written truth. As Kingston herself says, “There is more to this silence. They want me to participate in her punishment. And I have” (Kingston 16). Silence not only erases past truth, but actively functions to create and convey a new truth, the construction of which Kingston is forced, through silence, to participate in.

In an attempt to reclaim power, Kingston breaks this silence, making “the rhetorical choice to extend existence back to that long-dead relative by telling the story” (Parrott 379). Of course, however, Kingston cannot give a factual account of her aunt’s history, any possibility of that truth having been sacrificed to years of compulsory silence extending through multiple generations. Instead, Kingston presents multiple variations of the story, illustrating her aunt alternately as a victim of rape and coercion, and also as a romantic, a young woman in love. Deprived of fact, Kingston is left to craft truth out of fiction, to fill in the gaps left by silence with her own interpretations.

In Fun Home, Alison Bechdel also creates meaning out of the absence of linguistic representation. Like Kingston, Bechdel’s family history is of course also plagued by silence and repression. However, as a graphic memoir, the “gaps” left by the absence of expression in Fun Home manifest more literally in the form of the narrative – that is, in the “gutter” between illustrations, whose vacancy is silently responsible for the creation of meaning between each illustrated scene. Thus, as in The Woman Warrior, meaning in Fun Home is constructed not merely in spite of, but literally through absence.

Of course, for Bechdel, this structural absence mirrors actual gaps in her knowledge. Bechdel’s understanding of her father’s life and death is necessarily incomplete, and in her attempt to make sense of it, she illustrates and conveys as history events that she could not possibly know to be accurate, as she was not there. Through illustration, Bechdel shirks some of the responsibility to convey fact promised by the autobiographical leaning of her work, establishing a loophole in the contract between herself and the reader by rejecting linguistic representation and instead turning to graphic representation in which she is free to illustrate her own version of the truth.

Perhaps the best example of Bechdel turning to illustration as a way to convey the unknowable as truth is in her depictions of her father’s death. Like Kingston, Bechdel defines her own personal memoir largely in terms of her family history. Also like Kingston, Bechdel grapples with the uncertain circumstances surrounding the death of a relative – in this case, her father – and is left to fill in the gaps in her knowledge with speculation. The notion of his death as a suicide is an unproven – and perpetually unprovable – theory that dominates the narrative, and Bechdel illustrates the scene multiple times throughout the memoir. In creating these images, Bechdel is able to redefine and ultimately possess a crucial moment of which, having not been a witness, her knowledge is incomplete. Although in words Bechdel remains bound to her autobiographical contract with the reader and is forced to temper her assumptions about her father’s death with qualifying admissions of uncertainty like, “Maybe he didn’t notice the truck was coming because he was preoccupied with the divorce,” and, “People often have accidents when they’re distraught,” in her illustrations, she remains free to recreate and depict truth according to her own interpretations (28).

Bechdel’s willful revision of fact through visual imagery is also evident in the variations of her treatment of memory across these two – sometimes competing – mediums, text and image. Recalling an old story her grandmother used to tell her in her youth about her father’s childhood, Bechdel supplements her grandmother’s narrative with illustrations of the events she describes. In one of these illustrations, Bechdel depicts a man as a milkman who in her grandmother’s story is actually described as mailman. Once again, Bechdel qualifies her illustrated revision with text, including the confessional parenthetical, “I know Mort was a mailman, but I always pictured him as a milkman, all in white, a reverse grim reaper” (41). Here, Bechdel once again deliberately veers from fact, taking advantage of the freedom to interpret and express her own version of the truth through her illustrations. This variation between the realities presented in Bechdel’s linguistic and visual representations reflect the idea of multiplicity as truth – an idea that ultimately comes to define Bechdel’s personal narrative and understanding of herself as an individual. For both Bechdel and Kingston, the individual is an amalgam of different influences and individuals, including the family. As Bobby Fong remarks of The Woman Warrior:

Kingston reconstructs a past from fragments of memory, most notably the stories given her by her mother. That past is not simply facts recollected, but myth and story retold and transformed to meet the needs of the narrator. The work is achronological and open-ended; as readers we are left with the impression of a life in process, with a developing order, but not static, ever unfinished. (117).

While Fong contends that Kingston’s departure from the traditional autobiographical focus on the self as an individual in favor of “defining herself in terms of her place in a kinship line” is uniquely reflective of eastern culture, it can be extended to Bechdel’s decidedly western rendering of the American family as well (Fong 118). For both authors, identity depends on family history, and understanding that history is crucial to understanding the self. Thus, Bechdel and Kingston have no choice but to fill in the gaps in their knowledge with their own invention and speculation, using fiction to create and convey the truth of their own personal identities.

If readers expecting factual autobiography feel betrayed by these tendencies toward speculation and fabrication, they will certainly be left shocked and confused by both Kingston’s and Bechdel’s ventures into actual fiction. Both The Woman Warrior and Fun Home incorporate fiction directly into the telling of their personal narratives – Kingston through myth, Bechdel through intertextuality. In this way, both Kingston and Bechdel irrevocably obscure the division between fact and fiction, using both to define themselves through their narrative and shattering any expectations or presumed promises of fact the reader may have of the genre.

In “White Tigers,” Kingston departs from the preceding section’s speculative interpretation of relatively recent family history, instead imagining herself as the legendary Fa Mu Lan. This story is one of the many “models of reality” Kingston illustrates, rejecting the idea of her identity as a linear and individual progression (Fong 119). Though obviously not factual or reflective of her real experiences, Kingston traces her own life through an interpretation of Fa Mu Lan’s story, in order to both highlight their similarities and differences. Ultimately, Kingston uses the Fa Mu Lan legend as a kind of revisionist history, presenting her real life in stark contrast with the idyllic lapse into legend. Breaking away from the narrative with the confession, “My American life has been such a disappointment,” Kingston uses the Fa Mu Lan story to highlight the failures and struggles of her own life (45). For Kingston, her triumphant retelling of her life through the story of Fa Mu Lan allows her to point out the sexist injustices of her real existence as a woman in a society which she claims, “even now wraps double binds around my feet” (48). In reflecting on this, Kingston defines her life not strictly in terms of what has happened, but in terms of what might have happened – how things could or should have been different according to her personal values and beliefs.

In Fun Home, Bechdel takes a similar approach, intertwining her narrative with other works of literature in what she refers to as “a suspension of the imaginary in the real” (65). The memoir both begins and concludes with an allusion linking Bechdel and her father to Icarus and Daedalus. Naturally, this comparison eventually gives way to Joycean allusions, as well as countless other references including Albert Camus and Oscar Wilde intimately interwoven within Bechdel’s narrative. In this way, Bechdel literally, if paradoxically, depends on fiction to convey truth. Perhaps the most significant and entangling literary analogy Bechdel draws is between her father and both Jay Gatsby and F. Scott Fitzgerald, taking the intertextuality even further with the statement, “I think what was so alluring to my father about Fitzgerald’s stories was their inextricability from Fitzgerald’s life” (65). In a multi-step labyrinth of intertextuality, Bechdel sees the lives of herself, her father, and even of F. Scott Fitzgerald himself hopelessly entangled in fiction, the real completely dissolved in the imagined. For Bechdel, there is no distinction between fact and fiction, history and story. With statements like, “My parents are most real to me in fictional terms,” Bechdel actually emphasizes the idea of fiction as a pathway towards, rather than a diversion from, reality.

Both Bechdel and Kingston unapologetically intertwine their personal narratives with fiction, actively subverting any expectations of autobiographical fact presumably promised by their memoirs. Neither author sees truth as a mere compendium of objective fact, but rather as a patchwork quilt of fragmented memories, incomplete personal and familial history, and even fiction itself. Any attempt to distinguish absolutely between fact and fiction in these texts would not only be futile, but also impossible. In fact, this distinction – which genre claims to delineate – is impossible to truly identify in any literary work. Once an experience passes into the represented world, even if it is taken there with the most dedicated intentions of accuracy and faithful depiction, it becomes precisely that: a re-presentation forever divided from the reality of its real world existence and subject to interpretation that will bring it perpetually further still. Thus, the purported delineations marked by genre are arbitrary at best. There can be no fiction or non-fiction. They are inextricably bound up together in the wonderland of the represented world.

Works Cited

Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home. New York: Mariner, 2006. Print.

Fong, Bobby. “Maxine Hong Kingston’s Autobiographical Strategy in ‘The Woman Warrior.’” Biography, vol. 12, no. 2, 1989, pp. 116–126. Web.

Kingston, Maxine Hong. The Woman Warrior. New York: Vintage, 1989. Print.

Parrott, Jill M. “Power and Discourse: Silence as Rhetorical Choice in Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior.” Rhetorica: A Journal of the History of Rhetoric, vol. 30, no. 4, 2012, pp. 375–391. Web.

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289

Fun Home and Lacan’s Mirror Stage

April 19, 2019 by Essay Writer

The graphic novel Fun Home by Alison Bechdel opens with a series of panels portraying how she and her father used to play airplane. At the same time, Bechdel makes a connection between them playing airplane and the myth of Icarus and Daedalus. It is important to note that what Alison and her father are doing in this scene is role-playing. One of them has to be the support while the other one flies. It is a role-playing game, but nevertheless a game, and both of them appear very serious while playing it. Alison gets to fly, just as Icarus, while playing this game, but that is not necessarily true in their daily lives outside the airplane game. Bechdel says that “in [their] particular re-enactment of this mythic relationship, it was not [her], but [her] father who was to plummet from the sky” (Bechdel p. 4). This puts into question who of them is the father in their relationship. The mixed-up parallels between Alison, her father, Icarus, and Daedalus highlight the unclear relationship of power between Alison and her dad.

The conflicts between them were almost always caused by her father trying to solve his personal problems through her. He wants her to dress very feminine because that is something that he never got to do. He fails to acknowledge that her daughter is also going through stuff of her own. Instead of playing the role of a father, he is putting all the pressure on Alison to be his and her own father at the same time. The father gets to fly as Icarus supported by Alison as Daedalus constantly and Alison can’t keep up with that. Whenever Alison wants to open up to her father, the conversation turns toward her father’s issues. During the scene in the car (p. 220), after Alison tries to find out if her father knew she was gay all this time, his father only focuses on himself and dismisses Alison’s questions. The book that she thought he was trying to give her as a guide for self-discovery was actually a way of introducing himself. Because in the end, everything was about him. That is when Bechdel questions which of them was the father because she is doing all the parental listening (p. 221).

Bechdel concludes the novel with a scene at the pool playing with his father (p. 230-32). While the scene is going on, she narrates her own reasoning regarding paternity and her relationship with her father. It was not as simple as her being the father to her own father. Their relationship was tricky and they both, especially the father, benefited from each other to find out their own identities. Bechdel tries to uncover to the reader the nature of their relationship by juxtaposing the pool scene with both Ulysses and the legend of Icarus. She feels like her father sacrificed a lot that did not belong to him for his own sake, just as Joyce sacrificed Beach’s financial stability for Ulysses (p. 230-1). At the same time, his father was Icarus and flied too close to the sun, but “he was always there to catch [Alison] when [she] leapt” (p. 232). The novel ends with them playing in the pool together, as expressionless as when they played airplane.

This unclear relationship is further distorted by Bechdel’s act of writing a story about her father, in which she has ultimate control over how she crafts his character. Taking into consideration Lacan’s Mirror Stage, Alison’s father establishes his ego as fundamentally dependent upon external objects or others. Through books, he creates an “ideal” self of who he thinks he is or should be. As the idea he has in his head does not coincide with his experiences, he needs Alison to fill that inconsistency. He dressed Alison very femininely when she was a little girl because that is who he wanted to be. His idea self or identity is within those books and not in his person, that is why he introduces himself by giving Alison the books that have helped him form his identity or his imagos. The father’s encounter with the “other” ends up being in books and sometimes other men, that makes him unable to be himself with his own family and strains and distorts his relationship with Alison.

The parallels that Alison makes between her and her father, and Icarus and Daedalus are no longer parallels. They are a far more complicated than the initial simplistic comparison. The confusion that Bechdel creates about who is who throughout the novel reflects her own confusion regarding her relationship with her father. The fact that us as readers cannot get closure is also representative of Bechdel’s anxiety of never getting an answer herself.

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390

The Valley of the Shadow of Text

April 9, 2019 by Essay Writer

The introduction of the novel – or long form narrative prose in general – granted the writer a unique, widened canvas on which to blend rhetoric and art. Here, the writer is invited to both persuade and entertain, sometimes veiling one with the other. On this canvas, a writer has the ability to create an image of a world with a depth and breadth so like that of our own the two may appear indistinguishable. After establishing this image of verisimilitude, the writer – aided by a multitude of masks in the form of characters, voices, and various narration perspectives – is free to repaint the world according to their own vision, illustrating it as it truly is, should, or regrettably may come to be. That is not to say, however, that a writer’s re-imagined portrait of the world contains the entirety of their message. On a canvas as broad as that granted narrative prose, it is not uncommon for a writer to make extensive use of negative space. That is, what an author says may be defined implicitly by what is not said.

Two elements commonly manipulated in order to achieve this balance – or lack thereof – between positive and negative space are the perspective and identity of the narrator, as well as the chronology of the narrative. Although the very definition of the narrative structure essentially mandates the presence of these two elements in at least their most basic forms, the way in which a writer chooses to manipulate them can have as much significance to the work as the plot of the story itself. Two narrative works, Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day and Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home actively rely on their chosen methods of employing these elements in order to create a distinction between positive and negative space throughout the story line. Although technically of different genres – one a traditional novel, one a graphic memoir – both The Remains of the Day and Fun Home make use of a first person narrator as well as retrospective chronology. In both works, these elements establish an uncertain foundation dominated by negative space, which the writers use to both structurally illustrate and thematically explore ideas of repression and lack of identity.

If the third person omniscient narrator wears the godly, all-knowing halo their title implies, then the first person narrator, by contrast, must then bear the flaws of man. Essentially, while the presence of a first person narrator is by no means a suggestion of evil, it does imply that the narrator carries some sort of dubious quality or other failure of note. Often, this “failure” is nothing more significant than the typical flaws intrinsic to the state of being human – that is, an inability to completely understand the circumstances surrounding a given event, or merely the natural propensity for human error. However, the presence of a first person narrator can also signal the possibility of a more significantly marred raconteur: the unreliable narrator.

In The Remains of the Day, Ishiguro employs an unreliable narrator in the form of Stevens, the central character of the novel. While any first person narrator is incapable of being completely reliable due to the general restrictions of human nature, their occasional inability to fully relate the truth is often only noted when it serves to mobilize some specific aspect of the plot. Stevens’s unreliability, however, implicitly drives the entirety of the novel’s plot. His inability to relate the truth – however unconscious – separates the novel from a peculiarly dull story of a devoted English butler, leaving instead a comment on the dangers of repression and the struggle to find identity.

Ishiguro does not waste time in identifying Stevens as an unreliable narrator. In fact, the opening sentence of the novel marks the narrator’s first wavering attempt at a declaration, with Stevens making the heavily diluted statement, “It seems increasingly likely that I really will undertake the expedition that has been preoccupying my imagination now for some days” (Ishiguro, 3). Here, Stevens’s apparent need to temper a seemingly inconsequential statement with dubious adverbs strongly cautions that he is unreliable, not only in a general sense, but particularly in expressing his own feelings and opinions.

Albeit rarely, Stevens does occasionally call his own record of events into question, in keeping with his characteristic obsession with detail. In one instance, after relating a past conversation between himself and Miss Kenton, Stevens begins to correct himself, saying, “Now that I think further about it, I am not sure Miss Kenton spoke quite so boldly that day… In fact, now that I come to think of it, I have a feeling it may have been Lord Darlington himself who made this particular remark” (Ishiguro, 60). Stevens’s obsession with detail – both as a narrator and a butler – in contrast with his obvious reluctance to express any kind of clear emotion or opinion highlight the depth of his repression. Ultimately, as a narrator, Stevens is considerably more valuable for what he does not say than for what he does. Ishiguro conveys far more in the gaps between Stevens’s unnecessary qualifying adverbs than Stevens himself ever does in his longwinded discussions on the merits of “Giffen’s, undoubtedly the finest silver polish available” (Ishiguro, 133).

As the novel continues, Stevens’s unnecessarily formal speech patterns and circuitous syntax remain unfaltering, and his reluctance to own his opinions and ideas becomes increasingly obvious as he recalls what should be progressively more intense memories. Stevens is perhaps most notably devoid of emotion when relating the death of his father. Although throughout the incident Stevens behaves in a characteristically cold and distant manner, his true susceptibility to emotion – and the depth of his desire to repress it – is betrayed by the eventual revelation of his crying at one point in the evening. The mere fact of Stevens’s crying however, is less significant than the manner in which Ishiguro conveys this information. At no point does Stevens himself explicitly relate this state of affairs. Rather, this revelation only comes to light through dialogue in which a guest at Darlington Hall remarks to Stevens, “You look as though you’re crying” (Ishiguro, 105). Even after this remark, however, Stevens as a narrator never confirms nor denies the claim, merely choosing to ignore it entirely. Here, once again, Ishiguro uses his unreliable narrator as a pawn, crafting the novel’s true narrative in the space left by what Stevens does not say.

As the novel continues, so does the correlation between the intensity of Stevens’s emotions and his attempts to distance himself from them. In one notable passage in which Stevens looks with regret on his actions, or lack thereof, in regards to Miss Kenton, he even goes as far as to substitute the appropriate first person pronouns expected of the narration style for the ambiguous, third-person pronoun “one,” saying:

“Naturally when one looks back to such instances today, they may indeed take the appearance of being crucial, precious moments in one’s life; but of course, at the time, this was not the impression one had. Rather, it was as though one had available a never-ending number of days, months, years in which to sort out the vagaries of one’s relationship with Miss Kenton…” (Ishiguro, 179).

Here, this shift in pronoun use is not only unorthodox, but also somewhat incongruous, and Stevens’s attempt at ambiguity is unconvincing and perhaps even logically inconsistent. There is no question as to the identity of the subject whose “relationship with Miss Kenton” Stevens is discussing, leaving his lapse into third person ambiguities merely another rhetorical maneuver to distance himself from his feelings. Here, Stevens is so reluctant to accept his own feelings and establish himself as an individual that he essentially resorts to momentarily abandoning his post as first-person narrator. In this way, Stevens’s unreliability not only signals his deeply ingrained tendency toward repression, but also its consequences. Here, Ishiguro illustrates Stevens’s repression leading him to essentially forsake his identity as the narrator, suggesting larger overall consequences of repression on identity.

Ultimately, as a narrator, Stevens is a kind of parody of himself, essentially serving the opposite function of a conventional narrator. While traditionally a narrator functions as a kind of tool or messenger through which an author projects their own ideas or opinions, Ishiguro deliberately talks around Stevens, rather than through him. As the reader gradually learns to see through Stevens’s watery claims and incomplete versions of events, Ishiguro’s own voice echoes within the negative space surrounding Stevens’s narrow scope of the world.

In composing a memoir, Alison Bechdel had significantly less opportunity for variation in selecting a messenger through which to convey her narrative. While Ishiguro was at liberty to manipulate his narration technique, ultimately creating a sharp contrast between himself and his narrator, the narrator of a personal memoir must almost necessarily be the author themselves. In this way, the narration styles of these two works – while both first person – initially seem quite different, with Ishiguro talking around his narrator, and Bechdel having no choice but to speak directly through hers.

However, while Bechdel cannot match Stevens’s all-encompassing unreliability, she is by no means unaware of her own lack of omniscience. In Fun Home, Bechdel explores a more casual kind of unreliability in the human incapacity to fully understand the circumstances surrounding a given event. Where Ishiguro builds his narrative in the negative space created by Stevens’s unreliability, Bechdel crafts hers within that created by the inevitable lapses in human knowledge.

For Bechdel, this idea of negative space or “reading between the lines” can be taken somewhat more literally, as – in producing a graphic memoir – she actually fills the space between her words with illustrations. In Fun Home, Bechdel primarily analyzes the lapses in her understanding concerning not only the circumstances of her father’s death, but also those of his life. One of the ways in which she seeks to fill these lapses is through her illustrations. Throughout the memoir, Bechdel includes a number of images depicting the death of her father – an event which she did not actually witness. In creating these illustrations, Bechdel is free to recreate and in some ways possess an important aspect of her life of which she has incomplete knowledge. Furthermore, although in words the threat of becoming unreliable forces Bechdel to temper her statements about the event, using qualifiers like “Maybe he didn’t notice the truck was coming” (Bechdel, 28), in her illustrations, Bechdel is free to recreate the event with no restrictions or other indications of uncertainty. In this way, illustrations allow Bechdel the opportunity to fill the lapses of knowledge that pervade her own narrative.

In other instances, however, Bechdel’s illustrations serve a different function. Often, Bechdel uses these images to subtly suggest ideas to a reader before explicitly conveying them in words. Before Bechdel actually comments on her father’s sexuality, for example, she includes an illustration in which she depicts him in church casting a questionable sideways glance at a procession of altar boys. Although Bechdel does accompany the image with the enclosed caption, separated from the rest of the page’s text, “But would an ideal husband and father have sex with teenage boys?” (Bechdel, 17), the illustration itself attempts to convey the idea with a kind of real life subtlety. Essentially, as a narrator, Bechdel attempts to accurately recreate the repression that dominated much of her family life, using illustrations to suggest ideas that, likewise, could only have been suggested to her at the time.

As first person narrators, both Bechdel and Stephens inevitably suffer imperfections that would not plague an omniscient narrator. Meanwhile, a sense of repression also dominates the lives of both narrators. In The Remains of the Day, Stevens’s repressive tendencies create a kind of negative space in which Ishiguro reflects the hidden truth in the voids left by the narrator’s repression. Bechdel, meanwhile, takes a different approach. Aware of the vacancies left in her life largely due to a familial tendency toward repression, Bechdel attempts to fill them, endeavoring to reclaim pieces of her life by re-rendering them in multiple art forms. In both cases, the authors manipulate the negative space left by the imperfections of their narrators in order to create a multi-dimensional narrative.

Along with similarities in narration style, The Remains of the Day and Fun Home also share parallels in the retrospective structure of their chronology. While Fun Home is told entirely in sporadic, nonlinear flashbacks, Ishiguro employs a somewhat more linear structure, featuring a running retrospective chronology interspersed throughout the present day timeline of the frame narrative. Both authors use these chronological structures not only to illustrate their narrators’ fixation on the past, but also the ways in which they use the past in an attempt to reconstruct their identities.

The frame narrative of The Remains of the Day follows Stevens on a six-day road trip to Cornwall in 1956. Although in this, as in all things, Stevens is “happy to have distractions kept to a minimum,” (Ishiguro, 52), he frequently lapses into reminiscences on his life at Darlington Hall in the 1920s and 30s. Stevens expresses annoyance at his own tendency to reminisce, at one point breaking off the narrative with the self-directed rebuke, “But I see I am becoming preoccupied with these memories and this is perhaps a little foolish” (Ishiguro, 67). However, as Stevens’s constant reminiscing continues largely unchecked, it becomes clear that Ishiguro plans to house the majority of the novel’s significance in this bulk of the narrative that Stevens does not strictly intend to relate.

Stevens’s flashbacks often end with a kind of brief summary or reflection, suggesting an attempt to reconstruct a favorable identity based on these recollections. In concluding the episode relating the death of his father, Stevens remarks, “For all its sad associations, whenever I recall that evening today, I find I do so with a large sense of triumph” (Ishiguro, 110). Similarly, after relating two separate instances in which he lied about his past association with Lord Darlington, Stevens concludes the incident with the somewhat incongruous assertion that, “In looking back over my career thus far, my chief satisfaction derives from what I achieved during those years, and I am today nothing but proud and grateful to have been given such a privilege” (Ishiguro, 126). Not only do these assertions about his past signal that Stevens feels a need to establish his identity, but his reputation as an unreliable narrator also suggests that he is failing to accurately do so.

Stevens’s fixation on the past gradually illustrates the fact that he has linked his identity inextricably to Lord Darlington and a life of subservience, essentially amounting to no true identity at all. Following Miss Kenton’s reminder that “There’s no turning back the clock now” (Ishiguro, 239), Stevens is forced to acknowledge his own lack of individual identity, lamenting, “‘I can’t even say I made my own mistakes. Really – one has to ask oneself – what dignity is there in that?’” (Ishiguro, 243).

Throughout the similarly retrospective chronology in Fun Home, Bechdel takes a more active approach in piecing together the shards of her past into a unified identity. While Ishiguro highlights the negative space created by Stevens’s lack of identity and reluctant obsession with the past, Bechdel again takes to substituting other art forms to fill the lapses in her identity. This time, Bechdel’s substitutions take the form of intertextuality, with the author illustrating parallels between events in her own life and various works of literature.

Perhaps the most comprehensive literary allusion Bechdel employs throughout Fun Home is one to the story of Icarus and Daedalus, which she relates to her relationship with her father. In the opening pages of the memoir, Bechdel, illustrated as a child, foreshadows her father’s impending demise in relation to the Greek myth, saying, “In our particular reenactment of this mythic relationship, it was not me but my father who was to plummet from the sky” (Bechdel, 4). As Bechdel continues through the carefully interwoven flashbacks and foreshadowing, she unifies the fractured chronology in which she presents her troubled life with constant literary allusions.

Later, Bechdel devotes a portion of the memoir to a comparison between her father’s life and the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald, claiming that “the parallels are unavoidable” (Bechdel, 63). In reflecting on her father’s fascination with Fitzgerald, Bechdel takes the intertextuality another step further, suggesting that “what was so alluring to my father about Fitzgerald’s stories was their inextricability from Fitzgerald’s life” (Bechdel, 65). In a sort of multi-step illustration of life imitating art, Bechdel seeks to draw parallels between the life and works of Fitzgerald and the life of her father, using both as crucial devices in her own work of art. After noticing her father and Fitzgerald died at the same age, Bechdel even goes as far as to suggest that her father “had timed his death with this in mind, as some sort of deranged tribute” (Bechdel, 86). Here, Bechdel makes very obvious use of intertextuality in an attempt to explain the circumstances surrounding her father’s death – a mystery that comprises one of the greatest lapses in her own life and identity.

As the memoir continues, the chronology remains decidedly nonlinear, with the scattered, sporadic timeline mirroring the turbulent nature of Bechdel’s life. Throughout the narrative, literary allusions in general remain a constant, with comparisons ranging from Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest to the philosophical works of Albert Camus. However, amidst this proliferation of references, Bechdel both begins and ends her narrative with the Icarus allusion, concluding her memoir with the final comparison, “He did hurtle into the sea, of course. But in the tricky reverse narration that impels our entwined stories, he was there to catch me when I leapt” (Bechdel, 232). As Bechdel searches through the complex, erratic chronology of her narrative, this one running literary parallel remains a constant through which she can explain the otherwise inexplicable aspects of her life, gradually piecing together her identity.

In both works, the retrospective chronology obviously signals the narrators’ obsession with the past. Perhaps more significantly, this fixation on the past in turn suggests a dissatisfaction with the present. Both Ishiguro and Bechdel employ retrospective chronologies, once again crafting their narratives around negative space as they illustrate their narrators sifting through the past in an attempt to fill the voids left in their present day lives.

Long form narrative prose has the potential to mirror our own world so effectively that the two are at times almost indistinguishable. However, in composing a narrative, a writer has the additional opportunity to illustrate the unseen parts of the world as well. No narrative merely recreates an exact copy of the world as it is. Rather, narrative balances the known and the unknown, filling the canvas with equally important positive and negative space to create a multi-dimensional art form in which text is only as meaningful as the shadow it casts. Although given the space to recreate the world in great detail, the full sphere of a narrative ultimately depends on a writer’s ability to manipulate emptiness.

Works Cited

Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home. New York: Mariner, 2006. Print.

Ishiguro, Kazuo. The Remains of the Day. New York: Vintage, 1988. Print.

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360

Fun Home: A Real Life Example of the Absurd Paradox of Death

February 28, 2019 by Essay Writer

Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home is a groundbreaking piece of literature in which an audience is able to experience an autobiographical piece unlike any other. Through the illustrations in this graphic novel as well as the utterly human words and concepts discussed by Bechdel, she is able to express her struggles with her family dynamic, her father’s secrecy, coming out, and living life as a woman and a lesbian. Throughout the piece, Bechdel covers many different themes and concepts, a few of which revolve around the typically heavy and touchy subject of death. However, when discussed by Bechdel, death is a routine sort of thing, something even to joke about. Bechdel and her peers even call the funeral home down the street where her grandmother and father work the “Fun Home”. Christian W. Schneider relates all of these ideas to their ties to the gothic themes presented in the “Fun Home itself throughout the graphic novel in the article “Young Daughter, Old Artificer: Constructing the Gothic Fun Home”. To Bechdel, death is an absurd concept much like life when described by Camus as well as simply just an absolutely ridiculous concept and therefore something not to be afraid of or to hold as a taboo of conversation, but rather something to discuss or even joke about from time to time.

Bechdel spent her childhood and young adulthood discussing death as a joke (especially since her father was an undertaker), “visiting gravediggers, joking with burial vault salesmen, and teasing [her] brothers with crushed vials of smell salts” as a routine part of life (50). However, upon losing her own father, she finds that exact mindset is what has set her up to be so unable to grasp the reality of her own father’s death, trying to still sort of be light and funny about it by comforting herself with questions like “who embalms the undertaker when he dies?” (51), but finding herself nothing more than irritated at his passing. It is here that the true absurdity of death is depicted- what is more absurd and ridiculous and senseless than a thing which is most incomprehensible to those closest to it in their daily lives?

Alison’s irritation makes her experience all the more human and absurd. As discussed in Christian Schneider’s article, she spends her life “trying to escape the secrets and lies that finally prove to be her father’s death, as their power over her life still remains” (7). Alison proves to be absurd in her self, where the more she tries to escape the effect of her father’s death on her life, the more power the death has on her life. This paradox is as ridiculous as the aforementioned paradox of exposure to death causing more confusion when actually faced with it. In all reality, the absurdity of death is all based in the utter paradox of it.

Bechdel, even when conflicted about her own father’s death, handles death very well because she does understand that it is absurd. She does not only consider that “death is inherently absurd… in the sense of ridiculous [and] unreasonable”, but she also considers death as absurd “through Camus’ definition of the absurd—that the universe is irrational and human life meaningless” (47). In this definition of absurd (as displayed in the Absurdist school of thought which extends into existentialism and nihilism), one can see the simple tie of Bechdel’s thought on life to her thoughts on death. Bechdel never demonstrates a need or seeking or belief in an innate purpose and sees life as absurd and lacking logic, especially when she learns the secrets of her family. Therefore, it is very reasonable that she views death the same way- as meaningless and irrational.

The two concepts of “absurd” of course tie together, as if life and death are ridiculous and silly, they’re bound to lack logic or meaning and vice versa. So while Bechdel makes a point of separating the two sort of definitions of absurd, it is apparent that if one definition of absurd is observed, than the other will almost always be observed either as a supplement or as a result. It is evident that Bechdel’s exposure to death at such a young age is what gave her this absurd view on death and inevitably caused her struggle with her father’s passing. When death is truly examined for what it is, however, it can be viewed as nothing but absurd. It is a senseless, irrational, ridiculous, concept and perhaps one of life’s few concepts that can never be grasped while in this life. Life and death do not exist for any innate purpose, they just kind of happen coincidentally, without logic or purpose, so why not just accept them and enjoy the utter ridiculousness of the pointless existence of humans?

Works Cited

Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home. New York. Houghton Mifflin Co., 2006. Print.

Schneider, Christian W. “Young Daughter, Old Artificer: Constructing the Gothic Fun Home”. Studies in Comics. 1.2 (2010): 337+. Web.

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277

Fun House is Not a Home

February 12, 2019 by Essay Writer

Fun Home is an autobiographical graphic novel by American author and cartoonist Alison Bechdel. It follows the story of her maturation, growing up in Pennsylvania, moving out of the house, and coming to terms with her sexuality. In the process, she discovers some surprising secrets that her family had been hiding from everyone, including each other. Bechdel uses this piece to argue that the structure of the home is a reflection of the family and a way for the family unit to express itself. This particular family uses their home to hide and to create a facade that disguises their problems from the rest of the world.

The decision to tell this story as a graphic novel helps to paint a more complete picture for it’s audience. Bechdel recreates photographs, and entire locations, refers to old diary entries, she even mimics her former handwriting and the wallpaper of her childhood home. She goes as far as to imitate her father’s penmanship, which she calls, “one of the crazier rabbit holes [she] went down on this project (Chute).” She goes to some extreme lengths to preserve the authenticity of the graphic novel and the accuracy of this retelling seems to be of grave importance to Bechdel. However, she is looking at her childhood through adult lenses, which inadvertently changes the way she sees things. Bechdel even calls Fun Home a “revision” of her history (Tison). While all her reference material adds credibility to her story, the memories may not be completely accurate and could have warped and shifted over time.

In general, a house is a reflection of its residents. From the architecture to the accessories, one can tell a lot about the family that lives in it. Architect Lindsay Daniel says, “there is an intimate relationship between your visual taste and your values.” Suggesting that we can learn something about a person by the way they keep their space. Perhaps subconsciously, we judge each other quickly, with what little knowledge we have of them, before figuring them out and learning anything deeper. We look at the way they dress, the way they keep their car, the organization of their work and that snap judgment can also extend to residencies. Even different building materials can evoke different feelings. Carlos Raul Villanueva, a famous Venezuelan architect, makes an example out of concrete and calls it a, “symbol of the construction progress of a whole century, submissive and strong as an elephant, monumental like stone, humble like brick.” Something as simple as the building material can speak for the house and sends a message about the people living inside without even making mention of its contents.

Bechdel makes reference, more than once, to her father’s specificity and high expectations for their house’s upkeep. Bruce Bechdel carefully selects each piece in the house and takes good care of them. He has a passion and an eye for design that he extends not only to his own house but to the houses he restores as well, which are a hobby and an outlet for him. He also employs his children to help take care of the house. In chapter one, while doing chores, Bechdel says, “I grew to resent the way my father treated his furniture like children and his children like furniture (Bechdel).” It’s not typical of a child to enjoy doing chores but it seems that Bruce takes these tasks to the extreme, expecting every aspect of the house stay perfectly tidy and, it seems to Alison, that this tidiness is at the expense of his kids. If the home is a reflection of the family living inside it, then it’s clearly important to Bruce that he and his family are perceived to be put-together and nearly perfect. This overcompensation may stem from Bruce’s secret of being a closeted homosexual and his desire to keep that information private. He wants to create the impression that he and his family are perfect by making his house perfect.

Bechdel makes many allusions to other famous works throughout this story. She does this to help the audience better understand her history and her childhood through works with which the audience may already be familiar. Bechdel may also reference these materials not only for the reader’s benefit but because they help Bechdel herself better understand her existence, her family, and her relationships. Time and time again, she compares events in her life to those of Greek tragedies. However, one reference that particularly stands out is the comparison of Bechdel’s family to the Addams family. She points out her mother’s likeness to Morticia, the way a bat occasionally flies into their home, and the similarities in the family businesses. The most significant comparison Bechdel makes is their homes. In chapter two, Bechdel writes about her Addams Family comics saying, “the captions illuded me, as did the ironic reversal of suburban conformity here were the familiar dark, lofty ceilings, peeling wallpaper, and menacing horsehair furnishings of my own home (Bechdel).” In this passage, Bechdel acknowledges that her family is unusual and nontraditional without saying so. She goes a roundabout way by implying the Addams Family is nonconformist and her family is like the Addams Family. She does this again when she compares her features to those of Wednesday Addams in the form of two side-by-side pictures, even acknowledging they have the same lamp, which in this case is a form of self-expression. She then describes Wednesday as a “worried girl.” Bechdel is using Wednesday as a catalyst to express her own feelings and the Addams Family in general as a stand-in for her own. Additionally, the Addams Family is a somewhat autobiographical story of the creator’s, Charles Addams’s, own family, which may serve as inspiration for Bechdel to turn her own life into a cartoon.

The title of Fun Home comes from the nickname the Bechdel family has given to their family funeral business. However, it could also be a reference to a fun house, as in an amusing room of trick mirrors and slanted floors, usually found at an amusement park. The mirrors that are featured in fun houses don’t show a perfect reflection of how things are, they instead show twisted and warped interpretations of a subject, making them appear fat or short or upside down. Bechdel depicts mirrors in many of her illustrations throughout Fun Home, but only in stories of her childhood. Mirrors are featured prominently in her childhood house. Bruce and Helen Bechdel try to keep up a perfect image of their family and of their home but things are not at all what they seem from the outside. When looking into their seemingly perfect lives, what is reflected is a carefully crafted version of how they want to be perceived. In addition, telling this story many years removed from the actual events makes things from the past look different, warped and misshapen over time, likely resulting in a false retelling. The artist Lydia Davis, calls this “autofictionalography,” coining a term for the blurry and creative space between fiction and recollection (Freedman).”

In Fun Home, Alison Bechdel uses her childhood home as the backdrop for her story about growing up. It’s unclear whether or not the house really has the same details and energy that Bechdel writes about or if her memories have changed due to her new knowledge and understanding of her family in her adult years. Memories change over time but Bechdel keeps it as accurate as she can by calling on family photographs, handwriting samples, and actual journal entries from her childhood. Regardless of the accuracy of her house, a home can say a lot about the family living inside and the Bechdel’s home says they are perfect, while in reality, they’re full of shame and have something to hide. The house serves as a representation of the family and highlights all the things they are hoping to disguise.

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