MadInkBeard | Derik A Badman

[This was originally intended for publication elsewhere, thus the attempt at a more formal academic style.]

Introduction

At some point most students are taught about “point of view”[1] in literature using the tripartite scheme of first person, third person limited, and third person omniscient [2]. While this schema has pedagogical uses, it is not robust enough to account for all possibilities in written narrative let alone in dealing with visual narrative (or some combination of the two as in the majority of comics). Much verbiage has been written on this issue regarding both literature and film. Comics offer some similarities to both art forms, but also provide their own issues.

As a preliminary examination of “point of view” in comics, I will here look at three comics narratives that one could say are “in the first person.” Using concepts from both literary and film theory, I will point towards a more descriptive method to describe the varieties of narrative possibilities.

What is “First Person”?

The idea of first person in a written narrative is considered a fairly straight forward matter. If the text is written with “I” as the narrator then the “point of view” is “in the first person.” This correlation of grammatical pronoun with “point of view” provides for an easy system that fits right in with terms and concepts we already know from grammar, but it simplifies the problem to such an extreme that the term is inadequate for in-depth discussion.

French narratologist Gerard Genette in his Narrative Discourse takes the concept of point of view and divides it into two related concepts: mood and voice. More colloquially the “the question who sees? and the question who speaks?” (186) For our purposes the primary focus will be with Genette’s concept of “focalization”, which concerns the “selection of narrative information with respect to what was traditionally called omniscience” (1988, 74). [3]

Focalization is a restriction on narrative information, usually in relation to characters (most often, the protagonist(s)). Genette posits three main types of focalization, which he concisely defines as a comparison of what the narrator says to what the character knows.

1) Zero focalization (non-focalized) is the absence of focalization: the narrator says more than any single character knows (e.g. the omniscient narrator).

2) External focalization has the narrator saying less than the character knows (e.g. a detective novel where the story follows the detective around but never shares his thoughts).

3) Internal focalization is where the narrator says only what the character knows. A few variations on this include: fixed, where the narrative is focalized through one character only (e.g. fiction in the form of a diary); variable, where the focalization shifts characters (e.g. Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying); and multiple, where the same event(s) are focalized through more than one characters (e.g. Rashomon).

Focalization is not necessarily applied consistently across a whole work (though it can be). One will often see focalization shifting during the course of a narrative. These are not rules for narrative to follow; rather they are strategies to be used.

Genette’s concept of “who sees” works for written narrative where no actual seeing goes on, but when a narrative includes a visual component, the concept becomes problematic. A film, for instance, can be internally focalized through a single character but never show any recreation of what that character literally sees.

Film theorist Francois Jost addresses this issue in regards to film. He maintains the use of focalization as a restriction on narrative information (what he calls the “cognitive point of view” of the narrative), but creates a sister concept of ocularization to address the issue of the visual material seen by a spectator and its relation to the character (Jost 2004, 74). Jost’s ocularization includes two forms of internal ocularization as well as zero ocularization. Zero ocularization (non-ocularized) consists of most cases in film where the image does not represent any character’s point of view (in a literal sense).

Primary internal ocularization (p.i.o.) occurs when there is evidence in the image that “allows us, without relying on context, to identify a character not present in the image” (Jost 2004, 75). In the case of comics this would be single images that are clearly marked as coming from someone’s literal point of view. Jost addresses a number of cues for identifying p.i.o such as a part of the body reaching forward so it appears to be connected to where the camera is (I will discuss further cues in the following sections).

Secondary internal ocularization (s.i.o.) relies on context to show the character/viewer’s point of view, such as an image of the character looking at something and then the image of the thing looked at. In the case of comics s.i.o. requires the context of another panel (often the preceding one, though the use of braiding[4] might also establish this).

Jost notes that focalization and ocularization work together “polyphonically” (Jost 1983, 209). This is no where clearer than in comics. The interaction of text and image in a comics narrative creates the potential for a great variety of narrative strategies through focalization and ocularization. A brief look through the following comics narratives will highlight some of these strategies and interrelations.

“Life Through Whispers”

We’ll start with a rather straight forward case, “Life Through Whispers” by Jaime Hernandez. The six page comic is narrated by the character Ray Dominguez. Ray’s narration appears at the top of every panel in the story, written in the first person (the first person pronoun that is). On a simplistic level, one could say that it is a comic in the first person. That would work if one ignores the images. The problem being that Ray appears in all but four of the thirty-five panels that make up the narrative. (see image below) The narrative is clearly not shown visually from Ray’s “point of view”. Does that make it “third person limited”? Does either tell us much about the narrative and how it is told?

Taking the tools of Genette and Jost we can create a richer description. Rereading the story, we can easily say that the narrative is completely controlled by Ray’s cognitive point of view. At no point do we learn something Ray does not know, but we are also not just following him around. We are privy to his thoughts. The narration and images work together to show us more than just his actions. This is a fine example of fixed internal focalization.

On the other hand the images are almost completely in zero ocularization. In the thirty-one panels that Ray appears there is no indication he is being viewed by any character (or object). Of the four panels that remain, three panels might be read as s.i.o. if one looks only at the images. Were one to ignore the text, these images might still be read as ocularized through Ray, because of the context of the surrounding panel images. But these are comics, and the text is an important part of the panel. With the accompanying narration each of these panels can be read as p.i.o. For example, in one panel the image shows Doyle (a friend of Ray’s) standing in the foreground center mostly obscuring two men doing something between two cars. (see image below) The accompanying narration clearly indicates this is what Ray is seeing: “…before I could see more, Doyle blocked my view…” (Hernandez 58). Were we to look at this panel out of context we would still say that the image is ocularized through Ray. This is an important addition to Jost’s cues for p.i.o. that applies to comics: textual cues to the gaze of the unseen character.

The final panel (the last of the 4 that do not show Ray and coincidentally the last of the comic) is a mental picture in Ray’s imagination, a kind of full panel visual thought balloon. While we know this panel is part of the internal focalization of the narrative, we cannot, from cues in the panel (including the narration) or in the surrounding panels, say that the image is ocularized through Ray.

“Life Through Whispers” represents a fairly standard use of the “first person” in comics: narration with “I”, a narrative where the information is controlled by and restricted to one specific character, and images showing the narrator from no specific visual point of view. This visually and narratively focuses the comic squarely on the narrator/protagonist. A great many autobiographical comics are written/drawn this way. This comes as no surprise since comics have historically and are contemporarily focused greatly on character (and autobiography tends to focus on the creator/narrator/character). But not all comics are so completely focused on the narrator/character.

Yukiko’s Spinach

Frederic Boilet’s Yukiko’s Spinach is an ambiguously autobiographical comic about the narrator/protagonist’s, whom I will label “Boilet”, brief affair with a Japanese woman named Yukiko. In contrast to “Life Through Whispers”, Yukiko’s Spinach does not use any traditional narrative text. Even without the narration, a reader of the comic quickly realizes that the narrative is completely restricted to what “Boilet” knows and experiences. Nothing outside of “Boilet’s” perception is ever included. But this restriction to “Boilet” is not the same as the restriction seen in “Life Through Whispers.” The reader is never really inside “Boilet’s” head. His thoughts and feelings remain almost completely opaque. We remain outside his cognitive point of view, that is, this is an example of external focalization.

But Boilet does not completely distance the reader from “Boilet”. The comic is almost completely ocularized through “Boilet”. The reader does not know “Boilet’s” thoughts but does see through his eyes.

The opening seven page sequence of the book shows a series of buildings and signs along a street. No characters appear, nor any cues of p.i.o. The accompanying text acts in what McCloud would label a parallel interaction and also gives no indication to the source of the images. Only on a second time through the book do the images take on an internal ocularization (secondary). In fact, the majority of the book’s panels require the context of the surrounding images to create the sense of “Boilet’s” viewpoint.

In the context of a sequence of panels, Boilet often creates a sense of the wandering gaze of “Boilet”. Images that could be read as “normal” non-ocularized images in isolation become the directed view of the character when the images are sequenced (that is s.i.o.). In one scene, “Boilet” and Yukiko are having dinner together. (See image above) Over the course of a few panels, the reader sees Yukiko’s face as she talks, then a lower view on her chest, back to her face, and then sideways to the legs of a woman at an adjacent table. Through this use of ocularization, Boilet says a lot about the protagonist in a way that would be difficult and more obvious without it.

The majority of the book is in this s.i.o. through “Boilet,” but a number of panels make use of some of Jost’s cues to indicate p.i.o. such as foregrounded body parts and deformation of the image. At a dinner scene, we see “Boilet’s” hand reaching forward to pick a bean from a plate. (See image above) In a few scenes we see his notebook foregrounded with a hand holding a pencil, drawing in the book. He makes use of a subjective optical effect to show a blurred bicyclist speeding by. (See image below)

Boilet does not maintain the ocularization for every panel in the book. At a few times “Boilet” is seen from the outside. The two longest scenes where this occurs are still internally ocularized: one occurs in a video photo booth and we see “Boilet” and Yukiko in the video screen, while another occurs in front a large mirror in a hotel room. The other times offer no such visual cue and seem out of place in a work that is otherwise so consistent in its internal ocularization. They do serve to distance the reader from too much identification with the character. Perhaps this is purposeful by Boilet.

In comparison with Hernandez’s work in “Life Between Whispers”, Boilet’s use of ocularization and focalization shifts the focus from the character to the gaze. Boilet seems less interested in telling a story about the character than he is in constantly showing us images of Yukiko[5]. By mostly removing the character/viewer from the comic this focus becomes ever more prominent. The comic ends up being about the gaze, the look, more than anything else. A prominence he solidifies with the way he sequences and composes his panels to foreground the movement of the viewer’s gaze (as in the example page above).

Daybreak

If Boilet’s strategies shift the focus from character to the gaze, Brian Ralph, in his series Daybreak attempts to shift the focus to the reader and his identification with the viewer.

The first panel of Daybreak shows a single one-armed man saying “hello” and looking out at the reader. He continues on, addressing “you” and looking out. The reader of Daybreak quickly realizes from the context that the one-armed man is addressing an unseen viewer. Unlike in Yukiko’s Spinach, Ralph never shows any hint of this unseen viewer, no appendages, no shadow, not even any dialogue. The book maintains a s.i.o. over the course of the whole comic (at least as much of it as has been published as of this writing). The unseen viewer is never seen, yet we can surmise from the context that someone/thing exists in that viewing position. Primarily this context is the one-armed man’s ongoing conversation at (one cannot say “with” since we never see any replies) the viewer, but a few other scenes point to effects on and actions by the viewer.

In one case the one-armed man says, “Behind you.” The next shows a dark passage. The viewer has turned around to look behind. (See image below) Another scene features the cave-in of a tunnel. Two panels show falling stones and wood beams, followed by an all black (well brown) panel. We assume the viewer is knocked unconscious.

While this strict ocularization might lead to an easy equation with “first person point of view,” Ralph’s use of focalization belies this. There is no narration in the comic, the unseen character never speaks, nor are we privy to any thoughts. This narrative of strict internal ocularization is equally strict in its external focalization. This combination of focalization and ocularization is so strict and consistent that it is hard to say there is even a character there at all. Rather, Ralph has created a situation analogous to a “first-person shooter game” (there’s that term again). In a 2008 interview he stated his intention with Daybreak was to create this kind of videogame-esque situation as well as a choose-your-own-adventure style placement of the reader into the situation (Seqalab). Yet, with its lack of any choice or control, the reader of Daybreak ends up feeling more like he is being pushed through the narrative unable to see the actions of someone right behind him and able to hear only one side of a conversation.

Oddly, without the viewer existing as much of a character, the one-armed man becomes the real protagonist of Daybreak. He appears in almost every panel in volume one except a brief scene where he is believed lost. Despite the unusual narrative strategy at work, Ralph follows most comics in focusing his panels on a character. When the one-armed man disappearances, another man comes to temporarily take his place as the focus of the panels.

Daybreak becomes a narrative of following the one-armed man around. The unseen viewer fades into the background (foreground) and we are mostly left with a protagonist who has an odd tendency to narrate his own actions in the second person. The few times we actually see some action on the part of the unseen viewer (such as in the example above) are not enough to establish any real presence to the viewer nor any sense of participation in the reader.

Conclusion

As we can see from the above analysis, “first person point of view” is not as simple as one might think. The interaction of focalization (the cognitive point of view) and ocularization (the literal point of view) can create a number of strategies for narrative for different effects. These examples offer only a small sampling of the interaction of these two concepts. I hope this brief essay provides an opening statement to help expand the way we can talk about comics narratives. One more tool in the toolbox of comics criticism.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Tym Godek, who got me thinking about Daybreak in this context (in a comment on my blog), and David Bordwell, whose post on the movie Cloverfield started me thinking about point of view and the “first person.”

Works Cited

Boilet, Frédéric. Yukiko’s Spinach. Trans. Stephen Albert. Wisbech, U.K.: Fanfare/Ponent Mon, 2001.
Genette, Gérard. Narrative Discourse : An Essay in Method. Trans. Jane E. Lewin. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1980.
—. Narrative Discourse Revisited. Trans. Jane E. Lewin. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1988.
Hernandez, Jaime. “Life through Whispers.” The Education of Hopey Glass. Seattle, W.A.: Fantagraphics Books, 2008. 55-60.
Jost, Francois. “The Look: From Film to Novel: An Essay in Comparative Narratology.” A Companion to Literature and Film. Ed. Robert Stam Stam and Alessandra Raengo. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004. 71-78.
—. “Narration(s): En Deca Et Au-Dela.” Communications 38 (1983): 192-212.
Ralph, Brian. Daybreak. Vol. 1. Jersey City, N.J.: Bodega Distribution, 2006.
Seqalab. “Podcast 02: Brian Ralph, Brush Pens, & Fletcher Hanks.” May 1 2008. http://seqalab.com/?p=122.

Notes

[1]

I put the phrase in scare quotes because the term, with its visual connotation, does not adequately describe the issue at hand.

[2]

The idea of a “second person” narrative is usually ignored. Works written with the narrator using a second person pronoun exist (most famously Italo Calvino’s If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler), but in the context of this simplified “point of view” structure they are highly problematic. Some of the ideas I discuss later allow for an alternate way to deal with these narratives.

[3]

I will leave the question of voice for another time.

[4]

On braiding, see Thierry Groensteen’s System of Comics (U Mississippi, 2007).

[5]

The sociopolitical problems with Boilet’s work is a whole other essay in itself, one that hopefully someone more qualified will take on. As a starter you might read my original review of the book and the attached comments by the artist Frank Santoro.