I
have been a little slack in terms of reviewing graphic novels on this blog.
True, I did manage one, however I really don’t think that is giving a nearly
good enough image of my longstanding love for them. Although I am a superhero
comic reader, my personal favourite style of graphic novel are human stories
(doesn’t matter if their contemporary, historical, political, etc) and ‘El
Deafo’ by Cece Bell certainly fitted that category for me.
Based on a true story, this
adorable novel centres on Cece and her life as a child growing up with hearing
impairment, and how it affects her – in every respect. Oddly enough for me,
what I liked best about this portrayal was the appearance conscious nature of
Cece, as it made her seem so wonderfully human and relatable. She wasn’t
desperately worthy or dysfunctional or pitiful, she was a child facing a lot of
difficulties, and struggling the ubiquitous struggle: acceptance from others
around her. Another strong element of this book is its comedy, often visual
(yes pun intended), and how it makes light of things that, without the
illustrations, would likely make readers uncomfortable, as they’d be viewing it
from an adult lens, or at the least an objective one. However, because all we
see is through Cece, and through her funny view of the world, the reader feels
happy to laugh with her at others, rather than feel trapped in a bubble unable
to help her.
On the other hand, this doesn’t
kill the poignancy of the book in any way, and Cece’s struggle seem just as
honest and daunting to us as if we were living it ourselves. Cece's life could
seen as not dramatic enough for some of even a little too easy in places (the
boy she happens to fancy lives in her road and seems to be the only one that
isn't bothered by the wires), but I think that's the media-installed stereotype
expectations of polarised tragedy or success talking. Cece's life is real and
appears so to us, in a way that only an unreliable narrator can convey. This
reminds to make special mention to the author, Cece Bel,l that she has managed
something that so many autobiographies fail to. Whilst all self depictions
doubtlessly include the words "I know I wasn't perfect but", there is
something about the illustrated format that demonstrates and explains this
better than words can. The reader doesn't feel like they should be siding
against the Cece in these moments; it is in fact the opposite. You feel a
greater sense of empathy with Cece than you would if she was entirely flawed or
entirely perfect. It is this very relatable nature that makes the book so
addictive.
I could go on for years regarding the art
style for this novel. I could talk a long while about its important accepting
attitude. However, I will settle for simply saying this - it did not make me
cry and this is it's greatest strength. It is surprisingly easy to evoke tears
in a reader, but for something a little deeper and more realistic and yet
equally as resonant? That's something to be celebrated.
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