Images courtesy of Walter Scott

Wendy is far too high. She’s discussing her next steps in life with a semi-nude couple in a club in Berlin. If all goes well, she says, she’ll be attending an MFA program that fall. And she does end up attending the program—though in true Wendy form, she’s hungover and late for class on her first day.

Whose past? My past, obviously: I was Bart Gerrard, one of my noms de plume—the name of a then-forgotten and probably now more-forgotten Canadian newspaper caricaturist of the turn of the century. That’s the turn of the century before the turn of the century we just had.

But also the past of Canada, or Kanada, as we sometimes, then, in the seventies, found it clever to say. (Why did we find it clever? I’ve forgotten.) Bart Gerrard drew Kanadian Kulchur Komics for a small populist leftish periodical that had originally been called This Magazine Is About Schools, but had then become more general in its interests, re-naming itself as This Magazine. (“I write for This Magazine.” “What magazine?” “This Magazine.” “What?” “Who’s on First?”) (It is now called simply This, so no longer gets involved in this kind of circular conversation about its name.) Bart started drawing for it through Rick Salutin, an old friend, who thought the sometimes portentous and pulpit-thumping tone of This Magazine could use a little lightening up. Anyway, I’d always drawn stupid comix in private, so was not averse to doing it in public. As you can tell from the drawing, the strip was often cranked out on the fly: I was living on a working farm at the time and running a huge vegetable garden, so KKKomix sometimes had to take second place to slug-destroying and hay-harvesting, not to mention the TV script writing and other forms of scribbling I was doing to make a living and support my poetry-writing and novel-creation.

The central joke of the Survivalwoman comics was this: in 1972 I’d published a book called Survival: A Thematic Guide to Canadian Literature, which had made waves of a sort, not all of them friendly. This book was an attempt to distinguish what people wrote in Canada from what they wrote in the United States and the United Kingdom, in riposte to what we were so often told: that there wasn’t any Canadian literature, or if there was, it was a pale echo of things written in large, cosmopolitan, important places. Survival against the odds—both natural and human—I took to be one of the leitmotifs of such Canadian writing as I could get my hands on then, in the dark ages before the Internet, print-on-demand, and Abe Books.

Pair that leitmotif with the fact that, in the world of comix, Canada did not have a superhero of its own—Nelvana of the Northern Lights and Johnny Canuck and their bros and sisses having vanished with the demise of the wartime “Canadian Whites” in approximately 1946. (King of the Royal Mounted did not count, being American. Anyway, King had no superhuman features, unlike the present-day Wolverine.)

So what more appropriate than Survivalwoman: a superheroine with no discernable powers, who had a cape but could not fly—hey, it was Kanada, always lesser—and came equipped with snowshoes? The visual design was based on me—curly hair, short—as was part of the personality—earnest and somewhat clueless. This figure later did some fundraising for This Magazine, as a set of greeting cards, in which Survivalwoman sits on the curb looking dejected, as was her wont.

As Hope Nicholson has told me that she only understood about half of the references in the strip, here are some interpretations for you. In the Origin Story, Holier Pierre is Pierre Trudeau. We culture types were mad at him because he paid scant heed to us and our efforts: in that dimly remembered era, support for culture came from, guess who, the Progressive Conservatives! The middle finger is the same one Pierre had given some journalists. The rose relic is of course his buttonhole rose. The innocent, pure-minded Canadian was a cliché, and also a joke: we ourselves knew that this was not our real nature or indeed our real history.

The “Amphibianwoman” sequence is about a very high-profile concern in the 1970s: the Quebec separatist movement, then at its height. Why “Amphibian?” After the disrespectful slang applied to French people at the time, which was “frogs.” (I myself do not see why this should be derogatory, as I am an amphibian-fancier and my company is named O.W. Toad. But that is another matter.) Amphibianwoman is portrayed as sexier and more sophisticated than the naïve and flat-chested “anglo” Survivalwoman because we “anglo” gals were often treated to comparisons of that kind. (Why can’t Toronto women dress as well as Montreal women, and so forth and so on.) “René” is of course René Levesque, then the leader of the separatist forces. And as usual, the anglos (squareheads or wooden throats, in Quebecois slang) were told they just didn’t understand. They often didn’t, so fair enough eh?

In the Love Life strip, Survivalwoman has encounters with both Pierre (again), who (again) isn’t forking out for Culture, and Superham from the U.S., interested—as so often—in Canada’s natural resources. The final “Exit, pursued by a bear” animal panel is a reference to Marian Engel’s novel Bear, featuring a love affair of sorts with a bear, which had just rollicked upon the scene.

There you have it, young people of today. Don’t judge me. You will anyway, but wait forty years and see if anyone understands your political cartoons! Plus ça change, eh? Adieu, and bonne chance!

Excerpted from The Secret Loves of Geek Girls: Redux, published by Bedside Press. The book is now available at hopenicholson.com or on Amazon.

With its third time at bat, Toronto Comics Anthology has come into its own. Toronto Comics Anthology Volume 3 features 30 comics from 46 writers and artists—each reflecting on Toronto in some way. Besides that, the genres run the gamut, from true tales, to superheroes, horror, and more. The anthology shows maturity by tackling a variety of topics in creative and elegant ways. In “A Work in Progress,” writer Gwen Howarth chronicles the history of Toronto Pride’s Trans March through her transition. In “The Dark,” co-authors Aaron Feldman and Josh Rosen tell the story of a woman who reveals her terminal illness to her girlfriend while dining in the dark. For those who prefer something a little lighthearted, let Ricky Lima and Kelvin Sue reveal the secret lives of Toronto landmarks in “Architecture.” Through its variety of diverse narratives, this volume stretches the bounds of what comics can be.

Writer and advocate Jewel Kats gives life to inspiring characters with disabilities

WORDS HAVE CONNECTED THE DOTS of Jewel Kats’ life, keeping her company throughout. She describes writing as a passion that churns from within and comes out by the ink of her pen. An award-winning children’s author and comic strip writer, Kats has penned titles such as Cinderella’s Magical Wheelchair and What Do You Use to Help Your Body? Her goal is to create identifiable and relatable main characters for children living with disabilities. As an advocate, Kats is also the self-titled Original DitzAbled Princess—a reference to her autobiographical comic strip series. “I’ve been affectionately called ‘ditzy’ more than once, twice, thrice,” she says. “I decided to empower this adjective, and stuck ‘abled’ behind it.”

Knowing her close connection with books and reading, I was surprised to learn Kats didn’t understand a word of English in kindergarten. Living in an inter-generational home, she primarily spoke Hindi and Punjabi. Luckily, she says, her love for picture books saved the day. “I would stare and stare at the text and illustrations of picture books until my eyes were ready to pop out,” she says. She was especially enchanted with the illustrations in The Berenstain Bears and Dr. Seuss. “I started piecing English together by recognizing words that I was learning in ESL through the recorded narrative of stories,” she adds, “and began associating words with drawn items—regardless of whatever artistic medium was used.”

As the words accompanying the artwork made more sense, Kats became a bonafide bookworm. By age nine, she was already disappointed with school’s scant book offerings. Itching for a good read to cozy up to on a particularly chilly winter night, Kats convinced her mom to drive her and her younger sister to the bookstore at their local mall in Scarborough, Ont. En route another vehicle crashed into Kats’ passenger door and drove off. “Eventually, someone returned,” she says, “Until this day, we don’t know if it was the same driver or not.”

When the ambulance later arrived, Kats didn’t feel anything wrong—at first. While her mom and sister were largely unharmed, Kats soon realized she couldn’t move her right leg. She was an inpatient at Toronto’s SickKids Hospital for six weeks before being sent home in a body cast. Despite being stuck in bed and having to lay flat on her back, Kats found a familiar escape in reading, particularly Archie Comics. Yet, though the characters of Riverdale would keep her entertained for hours—“I was always drawn to the colourful illustrations and guaranteed punch lines”—she could never fully relate to them. Everyone, she says, was able-bodied and that no longer included her.

As it turned out, many years later, Kats herself would get a chance to fix this. It was like something out of storybook. As an adult Kats had graduated from avid reader to accomplished graphic novelist with the DitzAbled Princess series. While exhibiting her work at Toronto’s Fan Expo in 2013, fate interceded and Kats met one of the Archie Comics’ powers-that-be: Dan Parent, who is easily one of the series’ most prolific writers/artists. “I was pumped beyond belief,” Kats says. “After all, I had a bone to pick with him.” Wheeling up to her once idol gone peer, in her trademark hot pink wheelchair, Kats looked him square in the eye: “Why isn’t there a character with a disability in Riverdale? How is that even possible?”

Parent didn’t have an answer, but he invited Kats to keep in touch, which she did. Like many, Parent was inspired by Kats’ passion and advocacy—so much so that shortly after their meeting a new girl came to Riverdale. Harper Lodge, an advice columnist who uses the pen name Jewel and has a punky fashion style that doesn’t stop at her hot pink wheelchair. The character was on the cover of the comic’s 656th issue, her debut.

This is only one example of Kats acting as inspiration; there are many. At a two-day event at Buffalo, New York’s Museum of disABILITY History, which was held in Kats’ honour, fans of her work told her that she made them feel cool. It took her aback—she’d never even thought a disability could take away from someone’s cool factor. Coming from Kats, this seems genuine. After all, when Kats wanted a character to identify with in Archie Comics, she made it happen, and when she wanted a word search book full of fashion and glamour, she created it. The aspiring fashion designer sees her wheelchair as an opportunity to showcase the highest, sparkle-covered platform shoes, and makes sure all children of all physical abilities can relate with fairy
tales. Her confidence is as contagious as her smile. She is a woman who doesn’t self-impose limits.

“People have found inspiration from my real-life story,” she says. “I’ve personally triumphed over a childhood car accident, sexual abuse in my teens, anorexia, depression and divorce in my adult years. I’ve never let anything or anyone stop me. I refuse to give up.” Kats believes kids pick up on her upbeat vibe and assurance there is always a light at the end of a tunnel, if not a rainbow. “One reader read Cinderella’s Magical Wheelchair so many times that she had to tape the pages together!”

Now living in Etobicoke, Ont., Kats sees all the positive feedback and attention as an illustration to how much her work is needed: “Some call my work innovative, others have called me a pioneer; I beg to differ. People with disabilities have existed since the beginning of time. We were here yesterday. We are here today. We will be here tomorrow. I just happen to be recording stories that need to be told.”

Gold headband and matching bracelets. Go Go boots, booty shorts and a baby tee. A raven haired badass wearing shades and driving an invisible car (goodbye invisible jet) to track down the bad guy. This was the latest Wonder Woman appearance, aired on the Cartoon Network July 13 in an animated short. Her first appearance was in a 1941 December/January edition of All Star Comics.

“Wonder Woman is psychological propaganda for the new type of woman who should, I believe, rule the world,” said William Moulton Marston who created the heroine and penned her stories under the name Charles Moulton. The Harvard graduate and psychologist invented the lie detector test (Hey there, Lasso of Truth). When he spoke of creating a new hero, his wife Elizabeth Holloway suggested it be a woman. It was her and his other wife Olive Byrne (they had a polygamous marriage) who inspired the character.

Being the woman superhero that first pops to mind, for those not even interested in comic book culture, Wonder Woman is a feminist icon. And with anything feminist, female, and human, comes conflict. Both her story and costume have been revamped many times over the past 72 years. “[Wonder Woman’s] metamorphoses reflect nothing less than the confusion, fear, and constant reformation of American ideals about American women,” says crime fiction writer Kelli E. Stanley in a 2005 article on Wonder Woman’s cultural impact.

In the beginning, the story of Wonder Woman is rooted in Greek mythology. Aphrodite, the Goddess of love, molded Amazon women out of clay. After Hercules tried to enslave the women, Aphrodite took them to a place where men could not go, Paradise Isle. The earlier stories contain a lot of bondage and likewise imagery, “The ropes and chains are symbols of patriarchy and the drama is her ability to break the shackles of male domination they symbolize,” says Philip Charles Crawford in an article published on the School Library Journal. The stories were also around, Stanley points out in her article, during wartime and women were encouraged to join the workforce. After that the character got trapped in romance comics, being the domestic role model during a time when women were told to get back home and let the men have their jobs back.

Wonder Woman’s writers, origin, powers, weapons and gadgets have varied throughout the years. Sometimes her lasso is gone, others she has an invisible plane. She’s been a clay figure brought to life, she’s been an orphan in New York City. Gloria Steinem got involved in 1968 when writer Dennis O’Neil and artist Mike Sekowsky revamped the heroine’s image. She was stripped of her powers and instead learned martial arts and weapon mastery, from a man. The theory was her mortal identity, Diana Prince, could be more attainable than a mythological Amazon (or in some stories a demi-goddess) Steinem and other critics did not like seeing their icon lose their super power status, or her sudden need of male mentoring. When writer and artist George Perez took over the character, in 1987, he consulted Steinem in order to keep the feminism alive in the series.

Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman

The character has made television before, most notably from 1975 to 1979 with Lynda Carter playing the lead. A re-attempt was made in 2011, but was cancelled after the pilot. Animated series have been off and on since 1973. In 2009 there was a direct-to-video animated film.

Throughout all media, her costume has changed. Her original skirt has been altered to culottes. Her body has been covered up by the Comics Code Authority or by artists who thought too much skin didn’t measure up to the feminist ideals. The latter hasn’t been received well from feminists who do not want to be labeled as anti-sex. There is also the argument that Wonder Woman will be sexy no matter what since she is a strong, female lead. No matter what, the character will be complicated, like all great things are.

Picture from crunkfeministcollective.com