What's bad storytelling?

Everyone can point out bad comics storytelling; an exploration of what it actually comprises

Any time people are discussing comics – the medium and how it’s used – it’s bound to come up: “Bad storytelling.” It shows up in critical reviews, social media takedowns and portfolio sessions and is a frequent topic of conversation in comic book shops and editorial departments alike.

But like many frequently utilized pieces of jargon, the term is an ambiguous one, applied to a wide variety of perceived sins and transgressions of received comics wisdom.

But first! The non-spoiler averse among you might be interested to check out a brand-new preview of Free Planet #2 at bit.ly/CraterWasRight.

Read order violations

This is a big one, covering an immense amount of territory: Layout and composition decisions that make pages unclear. In practice, this category of accusation is most frequently lodged against design decisions that render the action of a page obscure. However, it is also frequently deployed for those choices that confuse reading order.

To inoculate artists against this sin, assorted proscriptions are put in place: Don’t stack panels on the left, always have an establishing shot and don’t mix scenes on a single page amid countless other guidelines regarding everything from optimal lettering quantity, length and placement to when breaking panel borders is permissible.

Each rule is set in place – not to ensure the high quality of a comic book page – but to prevent artists from obfuscating or otherwise breaking the narrative they have been assigned to draw. This fact is indicative of a worldview in which it is the narrative – not the comic itself – that is sacrosanct and artists are merely functionaries tasked with bringing that narrative to life.

This mindset is distressingly prevalent in comics. However, this fact remains unsurprising in that the industry largely consists of and is driven by editorially managed books. Whether Big 2, licensed properties or “creator-owned” for a publisher that shares ownership of the book, the vast majority of comics have to receive editorial approval at the story stage. This is where comics editors aim to have the most influence, providing a solid foundation for what’s to be built.

But this overwhelming trend has less to do with how to make good comics and more how to not make bad comics of a very specific type. But that very specific type of comics – revolving around narrative, with page design concerns secondary – strikes me as, frankly, insufficient. To be sure, these rules are effective for quickly producing comics with a relatively high potential quality floor (at the very least, the story will hold together) but they do alarmingly little to ensure the creation of a rich, compelling visual artifact. And what’s more, all of them can be freely broken by creators who do center the production of a rich, compelling visual artifact.

Pacing missteps

An interesting thing has happened to genre media in the current millennium: Everything is connected and part of a serialized narrative. The biggest books are series with multiple volumes, every television drama has season-long arcs and even sitcoms boasting their own week-to-week continuity, movie studios all want to set up universes of their own, and one-off stories and rambling ongoings alike – formerly comics’ bread and butter – have been exchanged for carefully plotted arcs ranging from four to six issues.

As a result, much of how comics are discussed is built around a perceived larger narrative. The first problem with this is that it’s nigh-impossible to have the proper context to assess a narrative while it’s still progressing. Many attempt to sidestep this challenge by assessing narratives in consideration of standard television placing: First issues are seen as pilots, with certain expectations and leeway; subsequent issues must tick off genre-specific boxes such that each function “properly”; and final issues of an arc or series are expected to wrap things up, in the manner of a satisfactory season finale.

However, once again, these metrics aren’t utilized in order to make a good comic; they’re applied to try and make comics function more like television. It betrays a view in which comics are merely television without sound and motion, a lesser medium that would do well to borrow liberally from others. It probably goes without saying that this is a worldview that I reject wholeheartedly.

Show don’t tell

It can be truly excellent advice. Taken as macro guidance, encouragement to avoid blunt and obvious proclamations, to utilize subtlety and ambiguity, to allow readers to piece things together on their own, “Show don’t tell” is well heeded. But far more frequently, “Show don’t tell” is bandied about as a universal truth, right down to the micro level, despite the fact that any story that adhered to it strictly would be utterly unreadable.

When applied to prose, “Show don’t tell” is often used to criticize passages that tell a reader things that would be better received should they develop their own understanding of them. This can include everything from thematic ruminations to significant story developments. However, even the most showingest novel imaginable consists – in a very real way – of nothing but telling, as every stitch of information must be written for the audience. The absurdity of getting rid of all telling makes it relatively easy to appreciate how “Show don’t tell” should only be deployed at a macro level.

Comics are rightly considered an art of design, comprising visuals as well as text as visuals. However, the prevailing view is that text and visuals are two discrete components of comics. This false binary creates an extensive amount of confusion with regard to “Show don’t tell,” with all art viewed as showing and all writing as telling.

The above is adhered to despite the fact that art and writing are both equally capable of showing and telling, whether it’s art that shows a scene that would have been better elided or text that evokes an understanding beyond the words on the page. Furthermore, any rigid adherence in this manner would create nightmarishly decompressed comics, as every complex concept or idea that could be easily expressed in a single caption must be displayed visually over the course of untold numbers of panels and pages.

Literature and art object

I’ve provided three overarching categories of storytelling offenses along with my arguments for why they’re not terribly useful metrics by which to judge comics. The question then becomes: How can we actually judge and assess comics? As comics are, indeed, a storytelling medium, there must be medium-specific things that constitute bad storytelling.

What makes comics unique among other storytelling mediums is the fact that the end goal is, not the development of a stunning narrative, but the creation of a worthwhile and expressive piece of physical media. Comics – in their true, fully realized form – are physical objets d'art, to be held, studied, treasured and ruminated over. In consideration of this, the above rules become even more absurd, as their primary function is enabling the expedient production of comics meant to be read quickly and breezily, washing over readers in a similar fashion as film and television.

Film and television, however, are hot mediums, while comics is a cold medium, requiring a greater degree of engagement from audiences. Thus, to fully utilize the comics medium, creators must craft something that encourages readers – not to rush through it as quickly and thoughtlessly as possible – but to spend time with a comics’ pages, rewarding them for doing so. The rules of “good storytelling” outlined above are wholly at odds with this goal: the creation of comics that function as literature and art object.

Chopping it up with iFanboy

If you dug the preceding – my bold, sweeping claims; comics formalism chitchat; and unrelenting enthusiasm – my recent appearance on iFanboy’s Talksplode will be catnip.

I’ve known interviewer Josh Flanagan for a distressingly long amount of time, with this marking my landmark third appearance on Talksplode. Because of our history and friendship, we’re able to get right into the meat of things, with Josh pressing me on everything from what inspired me to change my approach, my evolving goals and expectations vis-a-vis comics, and what keeps me plowing ahead in such a legendarily difficult industry. Plus, I once again get very fired up about my “All humility is false humility” bon mot. Go listen now.

Another glowing review

Humongous thanks to Michael Fitzgerald Troy for his detailed, thoughtful, engaged review of Free Planet #1. I was incredibly impressed by everything he picked up from our space opera’s first 20 pages alone. Truthfully, it’s been one of the most rewarding reviews for me to watch/read yet, as Michael so eagerly dug into and responded to all of our complex comic’s many aspects and facets.

Stay tuned for an upcoming chitchat between Michael and me…

Listen to this

Time for a new feature: Aubrey recommends an album! This week, it’s Zuckerzeit by 1970s German band Cluster. Broadly speaking, it’s Krautrock, but more specifically, it’s Kosmische, a sci-fi-infused take on the broader genre. I’ve been spinning a lot of Krautrock lately because of the way it recedes into the background for me as I work on other things, inclusive of putting the final touches on Free Planet #7. In my estimation, Zuckerzeit is the perfect album to throw on while you’re reading the Shape of Comics to Come.

NEXT WEEK: I plan on delving back into Free Planet’s bibliography but am not quite sure which book I’ll discuss yet. Stay tuned!

Aubrey