Arts One Open, from the University of British Columbia

What’s the focus of Sophocles’ Oedipus?

Oedipus & the Sphinx, pottery decoration from circa 470 BCE

Oedipus and the Sphinx, c. 470 BCE, by Carole Raddato, licensed CC BY-SA 2.0 on Wikimedia Commons

In Arts One last week we discussed Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex. We put a bunch of questions/topics for discussion on the board and didn’t get to all of them (unfortunately, not an uncommon occurrence in Arts One, but fortunately, it’s because students are so engaged and want to discuss!).

I wrote a question on the board that I had myself:

What of the Oedipus story is included in the action of the play and what occurs before or after? What takes place on stage versus off? And what do these say about what the play is about, what it’s focused on, and what message we might get from it (if any)?

We didn’t have time to discuss this question, so I thought I’d take the opportunity of doing a blog post to provide some of my own thoughts. As with all texts we read in Arts One, my interpretation is only as strong as my evidence–like those of students as well. This is to say: I am not arguing that mine is the only way to answer this question, just because I happen to be the instructor in our seminar group.

What takes place within the action of the play itself?

There are numerous elements to the Oedipus story, including:

the oracle to Laios and Jocasta that their son would kill his father, and his subsequent abandonment to die as a baby
his growing up in Corinth thinking Polybos & Merope are his biological parents
the oracle’s message to him that he was going to kill his father & marry his mother
his killing of Laios, answering the riddle of the Sphinx, marrying Jocasta
the plague in Thebes, Oedipus trying to find the murderer of Laios and in turn discovering who he is, what he has done, and that the oracle was right; his self-blinding and asking to be exiled from Thebes
his exile from Thebes and what happens afterwards

Only the second to last bullet point, above, is what takes place within the action of this play (Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonnus and Antigone address the last bullet point). More specifically, what happens is that Oedipus vows, as king, to do what Apollo said in his oracle to Kreon and find the murderer of Laios, and he continues to search and search for the truth until he does. It’s kind of like a murder mystery in modern terms, except that the audience knows all along that Oedipus himself is the murderer.

So we might say that one focus of the play, at least, is on the seeking of knowledge, and gaining self-knowledge. One could argue that it’s also about a king trying to save the citizens of his state from a plague, trying to do fulfill his kingly duties by doing what the god Apollo commanded–find the murderer of Laios and punish him.

But there’s another aspect to what happens within the action of the play as well: there is a focus on the issue of the knowledge of humans vs. the knowledge of gods. Oedipus is at first treated as a god by the priest in the beginning (and Oedipus himself seems to be answering their prayers as if he were a god at the top of p. 33 in our version), and yet the audience knows that his knowledge falls far short of that of the gods. So we see him not only gaining knowledge and self-knowledge by the end of the play, we see him in the process realizing that he is not at the same level as the gods (though, at the end, he knows as much as they do, so do what you will with that …).

The Chorus states that only Zeus and Apollo see and understand “the dark threads crossing beneath our life” (46), and then later they reflect on the nature of human life and how we are all like Oedipus:

man after man after man
o mortal generations
here once
almost not here
what are we
dust ghosts images a rustling of air
nothing nothing
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
we are you
we are you Oedipus (78)

According to the chorus, then, Oedipus does not have the same knowledge the gods do, and neither do the rest of us. Humans are only “dust ghost images a rustling of air”–very little, or perhaps “nothing.”

Similarly, he comes to realize, during the play, that the oracles all were true (and that Teiresias was right about what would happen to him). Despite Jocasta (and Oedipus) saying that we don’t need to pay attention to oracles, it turns out that they were right even when humans think they have discovered that they aren’t.

What takes place off stage or on stage?

Partly this question is going to be answered by the nature of staging drama in ancient Athens. There was a stage with very little in the way of backdrops or props. From what I understand, showing Jocasta hanging herself or Oedipus blinding himself would have been difficult or just not part of the normal way of doing plays at the time. Still, we can maybe glean a little from what takes place onstage vs. off stage in the play.

On stage

Mostly conversations: Oedipus and the chorus, Oedipus and Kreon, Oedipus and Teiresias, Oedipus and Jocasta, Oedipus and the shepherd, etc.
Mostly Oedipus is on stage except a few times when he’s not there
- The chorus is sometimes on stage alone
- Jocasta also prays to Apollo without Oedipus at one point
- Jocasta, the chorus, and a messenger speak without Oedipus; she learns of Polybos’ death before Oedipus does
- A servant comes out of the palace to tell the chorus & audience that Jocasta has hanged herself and Oedipus has blinded himself

Off stage but still within the action of the play itself

Oedipus sends for Teiresias (he says on p. 36 that he has done so, but Teiresias hasn’t come yet)
Kreon hears of Oedipus charging him with treason; on stage p. 46 he says he has come to answer those charges
Polybos dies; onstage, a messenger comes and tells Jocasta and then Oedipus
Jocasta hangs herself; Oedipus blinds himself

So we see that most of the action onstage is Oedipus talking to others, and most of it is him learning the truth about the murderer of Laios (himself). What happens off stage are mostly things that don’t have to do with Oedipus trying to find the truth (except for the first bullet point, above, but that’s a fairly trivial action). This again suggests that Oedipus and his quest for knowledge is at least one of the foci of the play.

Conclusion

I don’t know if this exercise has revealed anything that people weren’t thinking already, but I think it’s useful when one is considering a play to think about what parts of a story the dramatist chooses to include within the action of the play, what takes place onstage and off, to glean some insight into what the play is about. I may try this again with the next play we study in Arts One this year, Brecht’s Galileo. And I’ll be thinking similiar things about the films we watch. And I suppose really, one could also do something similar with novels…

I’d love to hear your thoughts, comments, questions, disagreements if you have them! Just write in the comment area, below.

Posted in blogs, lb4-2015 | Tagged with Oedipus, Sophocles

Ignorance is bliss?

Human beings are creatures of habit: We fight, question, and challenge. Seek power, freedom and knowledge. In the case of ‘Oedipus the King’, Oedipus embodies all these traits in the play as he attempts to defeat fate, save his people, and bring justice to his kingdom. However, feats such as these would be deemed far to great for any man. Thus leading us to the inevitable ending of the play where Oedipus fails to beat fate and in a sense the gods at which point he is left; stripped of his power, blind and crippled.

Nevertheless, this inevitability is challenged throughout the play when characters such as Jocasta and the Shepherd beg Oedipus to stop his investigation because his discovery of the truth is what will lead to his downfall. Finally leading to the key argument I’d like to discuss: “If Oedipus remained ignorant, would he still have failed?”

There were many different traits to the play that display that an ignorant approach to the problem could have led to a different result instead of Oedipus’s pre-determined failure and suffering. One of the forms this is shown through is the play’s Sophoclean approach wherein Oedipus brings himself closer to failure each time he gets closer to the truth, ergo the higher we climb, the harder we fall. This foreshadowed failure is even displayed by Oedipus himself in lines 1472-74 “And I, I am afraid to hear them… but I must”. At this point of the play it is clearly indicated that Oedipus has a choice to walk away from his investigation, however Oedipus claims that he can’t which stems from his human nature to question and seek knowledge even when he knows himself it will bring him great misery. Secondly, the moral of the paly is to accept that not everything is controllable, which is why we are given a character such as Oedipus who displays a great amount of hubris and attempts to succeed in areas in which he believes the gods have failed in because he thinks of himself as powerful as the gods. This leads to the ironic discovery that Oedipus is the master of all things, except for himself. Which is why Oedipus’s greatest weakness is himself; if not for his desire to question, fight and challenge fate, Oedipus may still have been able to retain his power as king.

Posted in blogs, lb1-2015 | Tagged with Oedipus, Sophocles

Oedipus: King or Tyrant?

In class on Friday we discussed in groups whether we thought Oedipus was a good or bad person, or a good or bad king. We didn’t have time to go over the reasons on each side, but I took pictures so you could see them all. Personally, I think it’s fair to say (especially after reading all of these) that he’s not clearly either just “good” or “bad,” that he is like a normal human being in having good and qualities!

If you click on each image it should open separately and provide you with a better quality picture to help you read the words (the second image, particularly, has some words that are a little hard to read so click on that image for a better version).

Posted in blogs, lb4-2015 | Tagged with Oedipus, Sophocles

Oedipus Rex; a story adored and preserved by the perverse and the decadent

Homo sapiens is, as far as the mountain of evidence given to us by history suggests, a species of animal that quickly and easily becomes bored. Like a great many of the lesser creatures that we share our world with, when bored we either seek entertainment or become destructive; and in some extreme and famous cases (think Bonaparte), both. Which brings us to the point; Oedipus was not guilty of anything more than being prophesied to do exactly what he did, before he was even a twinkle in his father’s eye. Whether right, wrong, or otherwise, his exact fate was foretold and none of his vain attempts to escape it did anything more than draw it closer. The problem therein lies in that we, as a species, gravitate most to stories that could be told of ourselves; images and words that we can vicariously live through to escape the dull, humdrum drudgery of our lives.

What, then, would the story of Oedipus say to a prospective patricide or mother-plougher?

Put into, say, the shoes of Emperor Nero a half-millennium later. Nero, as the adopted son of an Emperor, was taught the Greek Classics in word and theater from childhood and enjoyed the luxury of being the proprietor of the Imperial Box in the Colosseum, Circus Maximus, and Grand Amphitheater (we do know, according to Pliny the Younger, that he would often take month-long trips what is now Nimes simply to watch his favourite troupes of actors congregate and perform for several days). He would, of course, have watched such a grand classic as Oedipus several, if not multitudes of times. Nero, of course, stood idly by as his mother poisoned his adopted father (and his brother Britannicus, the prior heir-apparent) and made frequent visits to her bed thereafter. Eventually, he grew tired of Agrippina’s intrigues and had her killed, drowning his soul ever deeper into the abyss. Yet, he remained mostly sane and hale for another decade, free of guilt in his words and deeds according to Pliny the Elder. Could he simply have interpreted, through the story of Oedipus, that his own actions were the will of Jupiter no matter how heinous they were, or might have been? That he was not at fault for succumbing to the leys and paths of fate? Nero, like many others, simply took the story of Oedipus a tad too seriously.

And let us examine another great patricidal name of history: Karadorde Petrovic of Serbia, the first Balkan-born man since Skanderbeg to defeat the Ottomans in pitched battle, and the inventor, one might say, of the concept of a free, independent Serbia. Fearing his father might betray him (a fleeing fugitive, guilty of murdering an Ottoman Aga who looked at his wife suggestively) to Ottoman authorities as they fled to Austria, he simply murdered Old Man Petrovic as he slept. No qualms, no regrets. Patricide, pure and simple, an action that Karadorde never let blemish his cause as he emulated Skanderbeg and fought both for and against the Ottomans over the course of his storied life. Replying to accusations of willful patricide to a defeated Dahi at the height of his uprising, he said: “Deus eam voluit.” God willed it. Fate, as it were, willed it. To a great extent, much the same argument put forth by Nero in reasoning his actions to others: I am a tool of fate, no more. My actions are not my own, no more so than Oedipus chose to happen upon his father at a crossroads and engaged in a deadly scuffle with the man. Right, wrong… who but Zeus, Jupiter, or God might make that judgement?

These are but two examples; how many decadent aristocrats have fallen into the Oedipal trap of callous apathy, of putting aside their morals by reasoning that their fate is simply what some deity hath laid down as their prophesied path? Macedonia, Sparta, Athens, Carthage, Rome, Ming China, Byzantium, The Holy Roman Empire, Portugal, Spain, France, The Ottoman Empire, Austria-Hungary, Germany, the Soviet Union… the great hegemonic powers of the world all began and ended their decline into decadence when the aristocracy, the one-percenters of the imperium began wasting away in bloodthirsty, beastial excess. Excess, I say, that is fueled by stories such as Oedipus Tyrannus – or Oedipus Rex, one might equally argue – being recounted in body and word, era upon era upon generation upon generation, for simple entertainment. One must needs remember, after all, that the stories we read often and easily influence our character. And our character, in a vicious cycle, shapes what stories we tell of ourselves with our very deeds. Oedipus Tyrannus fa Rex is a story that exonerates patricide and incest as a thing of simple, uncontrollable fate; would people in latter times drawn to such things have not found considerable relief in that proposition? I say yes, yes they did. And still do, in some cases, today. Ave.

Posted in blogs, lb1-2016 | Tagged with Oedipus, Sophocles

Oedipus Rex does not deserve our pity

In his Poetics, Aristotle explains that the ideal tragedy requires a conclusion that evokes a cathartic response. Aristotle argues that in the face of a successful tragedy, an audience
“who hears the tale told will thrill with horror and melt to pity at what takes place. This is the impression we should receive from hearing the story of the Oedipus”
For this to be true, Sophocles would require an audience to feel extreme pity at the tragic downfall of the titular character. Oedipus’ character exemplifies a heroic king during the opening scenes, a necessity if an audience is to find him worthy of pity after his tragic downfall. He seems to be imbued with intelligence beyond that of regular Thebans, and is respected universally amongst his subjects. In the opening stage directions, part of this is made clear,
“A delegation of Thebans… carry suppliant boughs… From inside the palace, limping, OEDIPUS comes through the palace doors and stands at the top of the steps…He is dressed in gold and wears a golden crown.”
The use of costuming and proxemics puts Oedipus not only at the center of the stage, but also immediately reveals him to be of supreme importance and authority. Not only does he have power, but Oedipus reveals in his opening dialogue with the Priest that he empathetic and caring for his people, asking the man at his feet,
“Why are you kneeling? Are you afraid, old man? What can I give you? How can I Help? Ask. Ask me anything. Anything at all. My Heart would be a stone if I felt no pity or these poor shattered people of mine.”
Oedipus is built up in his regal authority and intuitive reasoning, developing him- Aristotle would claim- as the ideal tragic hero.

The argument that Oedipus exemplifies tragic heroism does not reflect the true nature of Oedipus’ character. Oedipus is less a ‘tragic hero’, and more a deeply flawed individual, overpowered by hubris and anger, undeserving of pity or respect. To prove this, it must be made clear that Oedipus’ character is dominated by vice.

Oedipus Tyrannous does not have enough redeeming character traits to be pitied. This is revealed through his hubris (excessive pride), unchecked anger, and irrationality. During his opening monologue, he exclaims “everybody everywhere knows who I am: Oedipus, King.” This is necessarily a problematic claim. Either it is factually accurate, and is thus superfluous (footnote 1), or is untrue, and thus Oedipus is overstating his worth- but in either sense it is egotistical and arrogant. This hubristic statement foreshadows Oedipus’ hamartia, and his continued self-aggrandisement becomes quickly tiresome. An audience can’t feel pity for a character with such grandiose opinions of his own abilities. Oedipus also repeatedly succumbs to a hot temper. In his analeptic description of killing Laius, he concedes that he failed to manage his fury;
“the old man himself wanted to thrust me out of the road by force. I became angry and struck the coachman who was pushing me…as I passed he [the old man] struck me from his carriage, full on the head with his two pointed goad…And then I killed them all.”
To have such limited respect for human life is an indictment on Oedipus’ character. To have murdered over such a small offence is entirely unreasonable, and reveals how ill-tempered he truly is. Oedipus continues to reveal his vices in his consistent unfounded blaming of various innocent characters. Having been told that he murdered Laius by Tiresias, he accuses Creon of an attempted coup;
“Creon, the soul of trust, my loyal friend from the start steals against me… so hungry to overthrow me he sets this wizard on me, this scheming quack, this fortune-teller peddling lies, eyes peeled for his own profit–seer blind in his craft!”(footnote 2)
This furious response is not only illogical, as argued by Creon (footnote 3), but also impious. Tiresias is a respected seer; never condemned by the chorus (footnote 4), and is purported to channel the words of the Gods through bird-lore. For Oedipus to claim that he is ‘blind in his craft’ is cruel, but more importantly for a 5th Century Greek audience, irreverent. Given his myriad character flaws and offensive behaviours, Oedipus is not a tragic hero and does not evoke any pity.

(1) Superfluous because, if it is true, then to exclaim it is not necessary
(2) This quote isn’t from our text, just a version I found online… I will buy the actual translation and substitute in the relevant quote
(3) Creon’s logic is as follows (written from his perspective); I am the brother of the queen, and thus have power, wealth, and authority. I don’t have to make hard decisions like Oedipus, as king, and thus I have all the benefits of being king without the stress and worry. To excite a coup against the King would be illogical.
(4) The moral guide in Greek theatre

Posted in blogs, lb1-2016 | Tagged with Oedipus, Sophocles

Jason Lieblang

Instructor with the Seeing and Knowing team

Bio
Lectures

Jason Lieblang is an Instructor in the Department of Central, Eastern and Northern European Studies, where he coordinates the first-year German language program and teaches courses on nineteenth and twentieth century European culture. To learn more about his teaching and research, visit his profile on the CENES website here.

He is also keenly interested in epistemology, the branch of philosophy that asks what it means ‘to know,’ as well as in cinema and comics, two cultural forms within which the relationship between seeing and knowing are a central concern. He will bring his enthusiasm for all of these to the Arts One program.

Lectures by Dr. Lieblang on this site

Posted in faculty, Jason Lieblang, people, Seeing and Knowing | Tagged with

Mulvey & Hitchcock

Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,”Screen (1975) 16 (3): 6-18.

Alfred Hitchcock, Vertigo (1958)

In the first half of this lecture Christina Hendricks discusses Laura Mulvey’s article, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” She discusses Mulvey’s own later thoughts on this article, compares what Mulvey has to say in it with what the class had read from John Berger in Ways of Seeing, and then goes through a reading of several of the points in the article. In the second half of the lecture, Jason Lieblang discusses Hitchcock’s film Vertigo, reading it in part through Mulvey’s arguments. He begins by talking about Hitchcock’s work more generally, then focuses on the themes of seeing/being seen in several of Hitchcock’s films, including Vertigo. In the last part of the lecture he looks at the film through Mulvey’s arguments about gender and vision, and ends with some questions we might ask about her arguments.

Faculty:
Christina Hendricks
Jason Lieblang
Lecture date: February 29, 2016
Theme: Seeing and Knowing

Please see this Mediasite link for the video with the sides attached.

Compare Mulvey’s ideas regarding the male gaze in cinema with Berger’s assessment and analysis of the visual representation of gender roles in Ways of Seeing.
Mulvey’s essay distinguishes between two modes of looking for the film spectator. Do either or both of these modes resonate with your own experience as a spectator watching Vertigo? Why or why not?
Can Mulvey’s ideas about the male gaze and the representation of women be applied to literary texts? Discuss using one literary text we’ve read this year as your case study.
Can Mulvey’s arguments in “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” be applied to any of the films we’ve discussed in our Arts One group so far (apart from Vertigo), or do any of them not seem to fit what she’s saying? Explain why or why not.
Mulvey makes no mention of the other main female character in Vertigo, Midge. Does Midge fit into Mulvey’s analysis of mainstream Hollywood cinema?
Discuss a film from Hollywood’s Classic Age (1930s through 1950s) that you consider exemplary of Mulvey’s charge that films of this period “coded the erotic into the language of the dominant patriarchal order” (8). Support your argument with sequence analyses that discuss both theme and film form.
Discuss a film from Hollywood’s Classic Age (1930s through 1950s) that you believe subverts what Mulvey identifies as the “cod(ing of) the erotic into the language of the dominant patriarchal order” (8). Support your argument with sequence analyses that discuss both theme and film form.
Discuss a film that you think transcends what Mulvey calls “outworn or oppressive forms” of the male gaze and/or dares “to break with normal pleasurable expectations in order to conceive a new language of desire” (8). Support your argument with sequence analyses that discuss both theme and film form.

More material related to Mulvey
More material related to Hitchcock

Image attribution:
Laura Mulvey in 2010, by Mariusz Kubik, licensed CC BY 3.0

Posted in Christina Hendricks, Jason Lieblang, lecture, powerpoint, Seeing and Knowing, video | Tagged with C20th, Film, Freud, gender, Hitchcock, Lacan, Mulvey, Vertigo, voyeurism

Weimar Cinema

A bit late, but finally here is my last blog post of the year – it’s been a long journey, with both ups and downs, but it was a fun one and undoubtedly a great experience.

Now, onto Weimar Cinema.

Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (1921). In the public domain. Accessed from Wikimedia Commons.

The expressionist films of the Weimar period are renowned for their visuals and dramatic tension, which was a result of attempting to compensate for the films’ lack of words and dialogue. Notably, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari directed by Robert Wiene features a unique, twisted set design, and exemplifies the dark, brooding atmosphere that is often found in films of this era.

The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari Lobby card (1920). In the public domain. Accessed from Wikimedia Commons.

The town in which the film is set in is all sort of distorted – the buildings are jagged, curved, and defy the laws of physics, the people drift aimlessly down the carnival, in a strange perspective, and the darkness clashes with light at every turn. A scene in which all of the set elements come into their greatest degree of influence is the film’s climax: Cesare, controlled by Dr. Caligari, sneaks through the night to kidnap Francis’ fiancee. The woman is lying vulnerable in a bed of pure white; the insomniac creeps through the windows, surrounded by a shroud of darkness, and flanked by the jagged pillars next to his entrance. As he approaches, his dark figure merges with the background, and it is as though the shadows themselves are encroaching upon the unprotected damsel. Here, the set design is not only laden with symbolic meaning, but is also a huge part of what makes the scene so dramatic.

Posted in blogs, lb4-2015 | Tagged with Film, Weimar Cinema

Buddha

Buddha Statue at Dawn (2009). In the public domain. Accessed from Wikimedia Commons.

Given my interest in reading manga, I was excited to know that we would have the chance to read and discuss Buddha, a work by the famed manga artist Osamu Tezuka. Although I knew the work would be touching on themes much more mature than those generally from that era of manga (which tended to be geared towards younger audiences), I was not sure what entirely to expect. I can now say that I was quite pleasantly surprised on how many interesting parallels between this work and the others we had read this year could be drawn.

While Tezuka’s work does not nearly approach the deep and philosophical questioning that is now occasionally found in some modern works, he masterfully weaves complex ideas into the entertaining medium of what was then children’s literature – while keeping the book humourous and easy to read, he explores many mature themes such as death, sexuality, social class, and the validity of religion. Throughout the novel, the brahmins’ religious legitimacy is questioned, and the class system seriously threatened by the controversy of Chapra’s position in the army and society. While in the end the rigidity of tradition and caste ends up banishing Chapra and ultimately takes his life, he poses a final challenge to the brahmin council:

“And so who decided it had to be that way? People? Or was it the gods?” (374)

Here, Chapra is not only defying his own fate, but the basis of Indian (and human) society – what is the right of humans to decide the rights of others? Who is the hand that writes fate – mere mortals, or a higher power? What is the meaning of belief, if all it benefits is a select few?

Posted in blogs, lb4-2015 | Tagged with graphic novel, Tezuka

The Significance of Font Variation in the Graphic Novel Adaptation of City of Glass

The graphic novel adaptation of Paul Auster’s City of Glass by Paul Karasik and David Mazzucchelli illustrates each significance voice with a distinct font. The typewriter font is used for the narrator to indicate the final draft of the narrative as the typewriter is an instrument that once marks the page, cannot be erased. If one makes a mistake, the entire page is to be re-typed which communicates the quality of professionalism and officially of the narrator’s words. The typewriter font is used to convey the authenticity of the narrative and the authority the narrator has in the novel.

Peter Stillman Sr.’s words are embellished with a capital letter of a calligraphy style as he is a member of the upper class and well educated. The ornamental letter describes his profession as a former professor who is wealthy and was respected. The capital letter that begins his speech bubbles are written in this style as his words are carefully chosen as his is a professor concerned with languages, specifically the language of God. As a professor, Peter Stillman Sr.’s words are intellectual with a higher understanding od the words that he uses, in comparison with the layman and the capital letter indicates his knowledge.

Peter Stillman Jr.’s speech bubbles originate from within to represent that his thoughts and words are different from the other characters. There are lowercase letters in his speech as a result of the abuse and neglect that he had experienced as a child. The trauma from his father’s experiments has changed his speech patterns as the different font indicated that his language skills originate from an abnormal processing method.

Virginia Stillman’s voice on the phone is captioned with un-bolded and several lowercase letters. The lines of the words are also not straight as the telephone distorts the words of the speaker and do not truly reflect the voice of the caller. The lowercase letters indicate uncertainty of the legitimacy of her concern and the ability of the investigator that she is calling. The lower case letters and wavy composition of the works from her voice through the telephone communicates the process of sound waves converting to pressure in the air. The different frequencies of each sound are also depicted by the fluctuating appearance of Mrs. Stillman’s words.

A different font is used to signify the diverse characteristics of each character in the graphic novel adaptation of Paul Auster’s City of Glass for metaphorical and atheistic purposes.

Posted in blogs, lb1-2015 | Tagged with Auster, City of Glass, graphic novel, Karasik & Mazzucchelli

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