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...clear glass of hindsight, we see that the elite should have embraced the very first significant comics artist. That was McCay, who, just 100 years and a month before the Los Angeles museum show opened, published his first full-color page of Little Nemo in Slumberland in the New York Herald. Here was a popular art at its onset and apogee: not a primitive Lascaux cave painting but a Sunday-supplement Hieronymus Bosch - a glorious other-world of dreamscapes as phantasmagorical as they were funny...
...McCay's ingenuity splashed from content to form and back again. Each huge page could be broken up into six horizontal strips or five vertical ones (showing an elephant getting bigger and scarier as it approaches). The panels might be in wavy shapes, when Nemo, Flip and Imp land in Befuddle Hall and their bodies elasticize into funhouse-mirror images. Or there'd be a large round central image, like the one for Thanksgiving 1905, in which a giant turkey - a kind of poultry Godzilla - uproots Nemo's house with its beak. Thanksgiving two years later expanded upon the dinner...
...shelf with vertical space big enough to hold this book; and don't put it on a coffee table (whose service it would nearly cover), less you spill some frappuccino on it. But buy and treasure it - and hope that, unlike my copy, yours doesn't have one 16-page section printed twice. Oh well, it's close to perfect...
...break out of the newspaper-illustration straitjacket, saying, "A daily strip to me is like trying to conduct an orchestra in a telephone booth." So at 23, on June 2, 1940, he introduced The Spirit, which ran as a separate comic book in the Sunday papers - an eight-page symphony, if you will. Not a graphic novel, yet, but a graphic short story...
...characters heavily; when they bent an arm, deep folds sprang into action everywhere. When one Eisner character slugged another, a real fist hit real flesh. Violence was not externalized plot exercise; it was the gut of his style. Massive and indigestible, it curdled, lava-like, from the page." As does Feiffer's prose...