MULTIMODAL READING: A CASE STUDY OF HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS IN AN AFTER-SCHOOL GRAPHIC NOVEL READING GROUP
DISSERTATION
Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University By Sean P. Connors, B.A., M.S. Graduate Program in Education
The Ohio State University 2010
Dissertation Committee: Dr. Anna O. Soter, Advisor Dr. George Newell Lucy Shelton Caswell
Copyright by Sean P. Connors 2010
ABSTRACT
Despite the interest that literacy researchers have taken in graphic novels—a kind of multimodal text that conjoins word and image to convey a narrative—few applied studies have asked how stronger readers at the high school level experience them. To fill a gap in the literature on graphic novels, and to contribute to a burgeoning body of scholarship on multimodal reading, this case study asked how six high school students—four males, and two females—who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers responded to four graphic novels in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group. Sociocultural theories of literacy learning, as well as reader response theories and semiotic perspectives on multimodality, were employed to understand: a) how the students conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material; b) what semiotic resources they drew on to construct meaning; c) how they talked about graphic novels in the context of an after-school reading group; and d) how, if at all, doing so influenced the manner in which they conceived of graphic novels. Data were collected using methods associated with qualitative research, specifically, whole-group and individual interviews, participant observation, and the collection of written artifacts. Data analysis made use of open, axial, and selective coding. Findings from the study indicate that people appropriate strategies for reading and talking about graphic novels as they participate in a community of readers that values that particular form of reading material. The findings also point to the active role readers occupy as they transact with graphic novels. As they read and talked about the graphic novels they
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encountered in the context of this study, the students were found to have drawn on an available visual design, color design, audio design, spatial design, and linguistic design as resources for constructing meaning. Despite this, they often appeared to underestimate the knowledge they drew on as readers of multimodal texts. Conclusions drawn from this study suggest that educators who are interested in using graphic novels in the classroom may need to help students make visible the knowledge they draw on to read them. Given the preponderance of multimodal texts that students encounter outside of school, adopting such an approach may help them foreground the rhetorical strategies those texts employ to persuade them, and heighten their awareness of the resources they draw on as readers to construct meaning in their transactions with them.
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Dedication
For Brenda, who encouraged me to dream
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The support and encouragement that I have received from the faculty at The Ohio State University has been exceptional. A particular debt of gratitude is owed my advisor, Dr. Anna Soter, who encouraged me to pursue my interest in graphic novels, and who has been a wonderful mentor and friend. I would like to thank the members of my dissertation committee, Dr. George Newell and Lucy Shelton Caswell, who generously gave of their time to talk with me about my research interests, and who never failed to provide me with valuable insights. I would also like to thank Dr. Maia Pank Mertz, Dr. Caroline Clark, and Dr. Jared Gardner for their encouragement and support, as well as their friendship. Finally, I would like to thank Dr. William Nietmann, who inspired me to undertake this journey. A special thanks is owed the students who participated in my case study—Hal, Barry, Hermione, Bill, Saki, and Sarah. The dedication they exhibited, and the effort they put forth, far surpassed my expectations. I would also like to acknowledge the faculty at Hamilton High School, most notably Dr. Audrey Fisher, who generously sacrificed her time to help me bring this project to fruition. I am indebted to my parents, Dale and Karen Connors, both for the opportunities they have given me, and for the confidence they have shown in me. Likewise, I would like to thank my grandmother, Catherine Tesoriero, for her support, as well as my sisters, Shannon and Casey, and my brother, Clancy, an individual who has always traveled the road less taken, and who never ceases to inspire me. A special debt of gratitude is owed Dakota and
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Montana, who insisted that I leave my computer each afternoon just long enough to enjoy a walk in the park. I would like to acknowledge my fellow graduate students, I-Chia Chou, Caitlin Ryan, Kevin Cordi, Ryan Rish, Frank Beickelman, and Sunny Wee for their friendship and support. Likewise, I would like to acknowledge the staff at the Laughing Ogre, who never failed to point me in the direction of new graphic novels, and whose passion for comics continually reminded me of why I undertook this study. It is also necessary to thank Susan Liberator, who along with the staff at the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library and Museum, never failed to assist me in my search for resources. Above all else, I would like to thank my wife (and best friend), Brenda, whose faith in me has been unwavering, and who has only ever inspired me to dream. No words can express my gratitude to her.
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VITA 1992……………………………………………………………..B.A., English SUNY Geneseo 1998…………………………………………………………….M.S., English Education Elmira College 2004-Present……………………………………………………Graduate Teaching Assistant The Ohio State University PUBLICATIONS Connors, S. P. (2010). The best of both worlds: Rethinking the literary merit of graphic novels. ALAN Review, 37(3), 65-70. Soter, A. O., Wilkinson, I. A. G., Connors, S., Murphy, P. K. & Shen, V. (2010). Deconstructing “aesthetic response” in small-group discussions about literature: A possible solution to the “aesthetic response” dilemma. English Education, 42(2), 204-225. Soter, A. O., & Connors, S. P. (2009). Beyond relevance to literary merit: Young adult literature as “Literature.” ALAN Review, 37(1), 62-67. Soter, A. O., Connors, S. P., & Rudge, L. (2008). Use of a coding manual when providing a meta-interpretation of internal validity mechanisms and demographic data used in qualitative research. Journal of Ethnographic & Qualitative Research, 2(4), 269280. Connors, S. (2008). Graphic young adult novels: Deconstructing and reinterpreting Persepolis from a cultural critical perspective. In A. O. Soter, M. Faust, & T. Rogers (Eds.), Interpretive play: Using critical perspectives to teach young adult literature (pp. 179-190). Norwood, MA: Christopher-Gordon Publishers. FIELDS OF STUDY Major Field: Education Specialization: English Education
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Abstract……………………………………………………………………………………. ii Dedication………………………………………………………………………………… iv Acknowledgements………………………………………………………………………... v Vita………………………………………………………………………………………. .vii List of Tables……………………………………………………………………………..xiv List of Figures……………………………………………………………………………. xv Chapters: 1. Introduction……………………………………………………………………………... 1 Rationale and Research Questions…………………………………………………….... 3 Research Questions…………………………………………………………………. 4 Seeing Through the Eyes of Others: The Constructivist Paradigm………………… 6 Tracing the Origins of the Research Project………………………………………... 9 “You Call That Reading?”…………………………………………………….. .9 “That’s Not Reading!”………………………………………………………... 12 Rationale for Assembling an After-School Reading Group………………………. 14 Significance of the Study……………………………………………………………… 16 Appeal of Graphic Novels to Adolescents………………………………………… 18 Graphic Novels as a Tool to Support Struggling Students………………………... 20 Reconceptualizing Graphic Novels as Educational Tools………………………… 21 Conclusion…………………………………………………………………………….. 23 2. Review of the Related Literature……………………………………………………… 25 Tracing the Origins of the Graphic Novel…………………………………………….. 26 Definitions and Defining Characteristics of the Medium of Comics……………... 26 Educator Perceptions of the Comic Strip: 1895-1930s……………………………. 27 The Birth of the Comic Book: 1930s-1940s………………………………………. 29 The Debate Over the Literary Merit of Comic Books: 1940s-1950s…………….... 30 Converting Comic Book Heathens…………………………………………………31 Emergence of Crime and Horror Comics: Enter the Moral Debate………………. .34 Foundation for the Emergence of the Graphic Novel……………………………... 37 The Graphic Novel………………………………………………………………… 39
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Educator Perceptions of the Graphic Novel………………………………………. 40 Sociocultural Theories of Learning and Literacy………………………………………41 Zone of Proximal Development…………………………………………………… 43 Communities of Practice…………………………………………………………... 44 Literacy as a Social Practice………………………………………………………. 47 Literacy Sponsors………………………………………………………………….. 49 Semiotic Perspectives on Multimodality……………………………………………… 50 The Cultural Situatedness of Signs………………………………………………... 51 Social Semiotics and Grammars…………………………………………………... 54 Multimodal Literacy as a Process of Design…...……………………………………... 57 The New London Group, Multimodality, and Available Designs………………... 58 Constructing a Metalanguage for Talking About Graphic Novels………………... 60 Reader Response Criticism……………………………………………………………. 62 Overview of Reader Response Criticism………………………………………….. 62 Stanley Fish: Interpretive Communities…………………………………………... 64 Louise Rosenblatt: Aesthetic Reading…………………………………………….. 67 Wolfgang Iser: The Repertoire of the Text………………………………………... 70 Theoretical Framework………………………………………………………………... 72 Scholarship on After-School Literacy Programs……………………………………… 76 Select Perspectives on How Comics Mean……………………………………………. 83 Eisner: Comics as a Complex Form of Reading…………………………………... 83 McCloud: Comics and Closure……………………………………………………. 85 Carrier: Response as a Form of Synthesis………………………………………… 87 Jacobs: The Reader and Design Elements in Comics……………………………... 88 Schwartz and Rubinstein-Avila: Manga and Multimodal Reading……………….. 89 Select Research on Comics……………………………………………………………. 89 Popularity of Comics with Adolescents…………………………………………… 90 Select Studies on Reading Comics……………………………………………….... 94 Cultural Codes and Comics Reading…………………………………………. 94 Reading Manga………………………………………………………………. 95 Manga Reading as a Communal Activity……………………………………. 96 Reading Archie Comics in a Community……………………………………. 97 Students’ Response to Comic Books…………………………………………. 98 Outsider Literacy Practices……………………………………………….…. 100 Students’ Response to a Graphic Novel…………………………………….. 102 Conclusion…………………………………………………………………………… 105 3. Research Methodology………………………………………………………………. 108 Overview of the Study and Research Questions……………………………………... 109 The Research Site……………………………………………………………..……... 111 Rationale for Selecting the Research Site………………………………………... 111 Hamilton High School…………………………………………………………… 113 Progressive High School………………………………………………………… 114 The Learning Center at Hamilton High School………………………………….. 116 The Literature Program at Hamilton High School……………………………….. 119
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Traditionalists and “Radicals”………………………………………………. 119 Classroom Discussion………………………………………………………. 122 Teacher Perceptions of Graphic Novels…………………………………….. 123 The Literature Program at the Progressive High School………………………… 125 Literature By Consensus……………………………………………………. 125 Classroom Discussion………………………………………………………. 126 Teacher Perceptions of Graphic Novels…………………………………….. 127 Securing Access to the Research Site……………………………………………. 127 The Reading Group Participants……………………………………………………... 130 Participant Recruitment………………………………………………………….. .130 Selecting a Case………………………………………………………………….. 134 The Participants: Profiles and Background Information………………………… .135 Hal…………………………………………………………………………... 136 Barry……………………………………………………………………….... 138 Saki………………………………………………………………………….. 140 Bill…………………………………………………………………………... 141 Hermione……………………………………………………………………. 143 Sarah………………………………………………………………………… 145 Design of the Reading Group and Selection of Texts……………………………….. 147 The Meeting Site…………………………………………………………………. 147 Role of the Researcher…………………………………………………………… 148 Criteria for Selecting Graphic Novels…………………………………………… .150 Potential for Use in the Classroom………………………………………….. 151 Recognition By a Professional Organization……………………………….. 151 Textual Variation……………………………………………………………. 151 Graphic Novels Selected for Use in the Study…………………………………… 152 Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood………………………………………. 152 Night Fisher…………………………………………………………………. 153 Pride of Baghdad…………………………………………………………….154 Laika………………………………………………………………………… 155 Reading Group Schedule………………………………………………………… 156 Data and Data Collection Procedures………………………………………………... 160 Data Sources………………………………………………………………………162 Reading Interest Survey…………………………………………………….. 162 Semi-Structured Whole Group Interviews………………………………….. 163 Semi-Structured Individual Interviews……………………………………... 166 Whole Group Discussions About Graphic Novels…………………………. 167 Response Journals…………………………………………………………... 170 Responses to Open-Ended Question Prompts………………………………. 171 Summative Journals…………………………………………………………. 172 Observations and Field Notes……………………………………………….. 173 Interviews with Faculty……………………………………………………... 174 Data Organization and Analysis……………………………………………………... 175 The Transcription Process……………………………………………...………… 175 Procedures Followed During Data Analysis……………………………………... 177 Trustworthiness………………………………………………………………………. 181
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Triangulation……………………………………………………………………... 181 Peer Debriefing…………………………………………………………………... 182 Negative Case Analysis………………………………………………………….. 183 Member Checking………………………………………………………………... 183 Conclusion…………………………………………………………………………… 184 4. Analysis of Findings…………………………………………………………………. 186 Analysis of Findings for Research Question One…………………………………… 187 Finding One: Participant Experience Reading Graphic Novels…………………. 187 Hal…………………………………………………………………………... 189 Barry………………………………………………………………………… 193 Saki………………………………………………………………………….. 196 Hermione, Bill, and Sarah…………………………………………………... 198 Summary…………………………………………………………………………. 200 Finding Two: Conceptions of Graphic Novels as a Form of Reading Material…………………………………………………………………. 204 Stigmas Attached to Graphic Novels……………………………………….. 204 Childish Form of Reading Material………………………………… 205 Negative Perceptions of Graphic Novel Readers…………………... 207 Challenging Stigmas Attached to Graphic Novels…………………. 209 Categories of Graphic Novels………………………………………………. 210 Superhero Graphic Novels, Manga, and Academic Graphic Novels……………………………………………………... 211 Accessible Form of Reading Material………………………………………. 216 Minimal Time Investment………………………………………….. 216 Knowledge Needed to Read Graphic Novels………………………. 217 Summary…………………………………………………………………………. 221 Analysis of Findings for Research Question Two…………………………………… 222 Finding One: Visual Design……………………………………………………… 224 Mimetic Forms……………………………………………………………… 225 Establishing Setting………………………………………………… 225 Evaluating Characters………………………………………………. 229 Perspective………………………………………………………………….. 230 Facial Expressions…………………………………………………………... 232 Visual Patterns………………………………………………………………. 235 Image as Symbol……………………………………………………………. 238 Conventional Signs…………………………………………………. 239 Open Symbols………………………………………………………. 241 Finding Two: Color Design……………………………………………………… 243 Color as a Resource for Constructing Mood………………………………... 244 Color as a Tactile Experience……………………………………………….. 246 Color as a Conventional Sign……………………………………………….. 249 Finding Three: Audio Design……………………………………………………. 251 Finding Four: Spatial Design…………………………………………………….. 255 Finding Five: Linguistic Design…………………………………………………. 259
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Summary…………………………………………………………………………. 262 Analysis of Findings for Research Question Three………………………………….. 263 Finding One: Discussions Characterized By an Analytic Focus……………….... 263 Varied Purposes for Talking About Graphic Novels……………………….. 263 Analytic Focus of Reading Group Discussions…………………………….. 266 Evaluating Images………………………………………………….. 268 Analyzing Themes………………………………………………….. 269 Sharing Aesthetic Responses……………………………………….. 271 Summary…………………………………………………………………………. 274 Analysis of Findings for Research Question Four…………………………………… 275 Finding One: Substantive Form of Reading Material……………………………. 276 Finding Two: Changed Interactions with Graphic Novels………………………. 280 Devoting More Time to Images…………………………………………….. 281 Reading Analytically………………………………………………………... 284 Finding Three: Knowledge Needed to Read Graphic Novels…………………… 286 Summary…………………………………………………………………………. 290 Conclusion…………………………………………………………………………… 291 5. Conclusions and Implications………………………………………………………... 294 Overview of the Study……………………………………………………………….. 294 Synthesis and Discussion of Findings……………………………………………….. 296 Research Question One…………………………………………………………... 296 Finding One: Entering a Community of Comics Readers………………….. 296 Finding Two: Conceptions of Graphic Novels……………………………... 301 Stigmas Attached to Graphic Novels………………………………. 301 Knowledge Needed to Read Graphic Novels………………………. 303 Research Question Two………………………………………………………….. 305 Finding One: Visual Design………………………………………………… 306 Finding Two: Color Design…………………………………………………. 307 Finding Three: Audio Design……………………………………………….. 307 Finding Four: Spatial Design……………………………………………….. 308 Finding Five: Linguistic Design…………………………………………….. 309 Research Question Three………………………………………………………… 312 Finding One: Analytic Focus of Discussions……………………………….. 312 Research Question Four………………………………………………………….. 318 Finding One: Substantive Form of Reading Material………………………. 319 Finding Two: Changed Interactions with Graphic Novels…………………. 323 Finding Three: Knowledge Needed to Read Graphic Novels……………… 325 Limitations of the Study……………………………………………………………... 329 Implications of the Study…………………………………………………………….. 332 Implications for Pedagogy……………………………………………………….. 332 Suggestions for Future Research…………………………………………………. 337 References……………………………………………………………………………. 341
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Appendices………………………………………………………………………….... 356 Appendix A: Participant Recruitment Letter…………………………………….. 356 Appendix B: Reading Interest Survey…………………………………………… 359 Appendix C: First Semi-Structured Whole Group Interview Protocol………….. 365 Appendix D: Final Semi-Structured Whole Group Interview Protocol…………. 368 Appendix E: Instructions for Response Journal…………………………………. 371 Appendix F: Directions for Summative Journal…………………………………. 375 Appendix G: Sample Field Notes………………………………………………... 378 Appendix H: Interview Protocol for Use with English Teachers………………... 381 Appendix I: Interview Protocol for Use with English Department Chair……….. 384 Appendix J: Interview Protocol for Use with Media Specialist…………………. 386
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LIST OF TABLES Table
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3.1 Hamilton High School Statistics…………………………………………………… 113 3.2 Progressive High School Statistics………………………………………………… 116
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LIST OF FIGURES Figures 2.1 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4
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Representation of Theoretical Framework…………………………………………... 73 Participant Demographic Information………………………………………………136 Reading Group Schedule and Activities…………………………………………… 156 Research Questions and Corresponding Data Set………………………………….. 162 Transcription Conventions and Examples…………………………………………. 177 Communities of Comics Readers…………………………………………………... 202 Panel From Pride of Baghdad (no pagination)…………………………………….. 228 Panel From Night Fisher (p. 114)………………………………………………….. 240 Panel From Persepolis (p. 142)…………………………………………….............. 272
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CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION
In recent years, literacy educators have recognized a need to provide secondary students with opportunities to think critically about the intellectual work involved in reading and writing multimodal texts—that is, texts that integrate a range of semiotic resources, of which language is but one (Jewitt, 2002, 2005; Kist, 2005; New London Group, 1996). Drawing attention to the impact that multimodal literacies are expected to have on secondary English language arts instruction in the 21st century, the National Council of Teachers of English (henceforth NCTE) identifies a need for literacy educators to help students understand how multimodal texts “make meaning, how they are based on conventions, and how they are created for and respond to specific communities or audiences” (NCTE Position Statement, 2005, Declarations Concerning the Broadest section, para. 16). Much attention has been given the relationship between multimodality and digital media (Doering, Beach, & O’Brien, 2007; Goodwyn, 2000; Miller, 2007), and a growing but already considerable body of scholarship has examined young people’s experiences as the producers of digital texts, foregrounding multimodal composition as an area of scholarly interest (Cramer & Smith, 2002; Daiute, 1992; Hull & Nelson, 2005; Vincent, 2006). The concept of multimodality, however, is neither limited to the field of composition studies, nor confined to the realm of digital literacies. Indeed, NCTE (2005) observes that “an exclusive
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emphasis on digital literacies is not what most advocates of technology-rich composition advocate,” and cautions that adopting “such an emphasis would limit students’ access to other modes of expression” (Declarations Concerning the Broadest section, para. 7). While multimodal literacy might appear to constitute a new subject of study, scholars in the area of children’s literature have for some time asked how children respond to picturebooks—a form of multimodal text that conjoins word and image to communicate a narrative (Arizpe & Styles, 2003; Kiefer, 1993; Nikolajeva & Scott, 2001; Nodelman, 1988; Schwarcz, 1982; Sipe, 2000, 2008). Despite the pervasiveness of multimodal books in youth culture, the manner in which students at the secondary level construct meaning in their interactions with texts that conjoin word and image has received less attention, a result, perhaps, of a tendency to privilege the written word over other semiotic resources in the secondary English language arts curriculum. Though a phalanx of literacy educators has examined secondary students’ response to literature (Beach, 1993; Blau, 2003; Langer, 1995; Marshall, Smagorinsky, & Smith, 1995; Probst, 2004; Purves & Rippere, 1968; Rogers, 1991, 1997; Squire, 1964), their work has focused largely on response to print texts. Benton (1992) asked how secondary students responded to art, but he was concerned with images (e.g., paintings), as opposed to a combination of word and image. When the issue of multimodal reading has received attention in secondary literacy education, researchers have expressed an interest in understanding how students transact with digital texts (Jewitt, 2002, 2005). Consequently, in spite of NCTE’s (2005) observation that “students are very sophisticated readers…of multimodal work” (Declarations Concerning the Broadest section, para. 16), it would appear that relatively little is known about the manner in which secondary students read and talk about multimodal texts outside the digital domain.
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Rationale and Research Questions A growing number of books and articles point to the interest that literacy educators have taken in the educational merit of graphic novels—an extension of the comic book, and a form of multimodal text (Carter, 2007; Monnin, 2010; Schwarz, 2002, 2006). Like the comic book, graphic novels interweave a range of semiotic resources—most notably word and image—to convey a narrative. Yet whereas educators have historically held the comic book in low regard (Hajdu, 2008; Nyberg, 1998; Wright, 2001), a growing number of them have embraced the graphic novel as a tool for use in the classroom. One might interpret this as a sign that the graphic novel—a marketing term used to refer to “a book-length work in the medium of comics” (Chute, 2008, p. 453)—has found a sense of legitimacy previously denied the comic book in academic circles. This claim is supported by Nilsen and Donelson’s (2009) recent assessment of graphic novels, which they characterize as “comic books that have gone off to college and come back with new sophistication and respect” (p. 176). In higher education, college and university English departments, long considered guardians of high culture, have introduced courses of study designed to explore the literary merit of graphic novels (Versaci, 2001). Indeed, Chute (2008) observes that works written in the medium of comics have made their way into Postmodern American Fiction: A Norton Anthology. Outside the academy, a growing number of elementary and secondary educators, as well as school librarians, advocate using graphic novels to motivate so-called “reluctant” readers (Crawford, 2004; Dorrell, 1987; Simmons, 2003; Snowball, 2005), and support students who struggle with reading and writing as they are traditionally conceived (Bitz, 2004; Frey & Fisher, 2004; Morrison, Bryan, & Chilcoat, 2002). More recently, attention has
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been given the pedagogical ends graphic novels might serve for use with readers of varying ability levels (Carter, 2007). Yet with the exception of applied studies undertaken by Martin (1992) and Hammond (2009), literacy researchers have paid relatively little attention to the processes wherein high school students, particularly those who are deemed proficient readers, construct meaning in their transactions with graphic novels. That this should be the case is surprising, particularly in light of recent scholarship that suggests that academically inclined students may deem works written in the medium of comics (e.g., comic books, graphic novels, etc.) “unworthy of academic study” (Annett, 2008, p. 166). It would appear, then, that literacy educators have embraced graphic novels as a tool for use in educational contexts without necessarily understanding how proficient readers at the secondary level conceive of them as a form of reading material, how they make use of the semiotic resources they employ to construct meaning, and how talking about them with other readers in the context of literature discussions might influence their conceptions of them. Research Questions To address a gap in the literature on multimodal literary reading, and to contribute to the field of English education’s understanding of a form of reading material that is often popular with adolescent audiences (Hughes-Hassell & Rodge, 2007; Poerschke, 2005; Worthy, Moorman, & Turner, 1999), I undertook a qualitative research project that took the form of a case study and asked how six sophomore and junior students who attended a high school with a local reputation for academic excellence, and who were identified by their respective English teachers as proficient readers, read and talked about four graphic novels in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group that met seven times over a period of 17 weeks. In doing so, I sought to address the following research questions:
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1) What are high school students’ experiences reading graphic novels, and how do they conceive of them as a form of reading material? 2) What semiotic resources do high school students draw on as they read graphic novels, and in what ways do they work with them? 3) How do high school students talk about graphic novels in the context of an afterschool reading group? 4) To what extent, if at all, do high school students’ conceptions of graphic novels change as they are given opportunities to read and talk about them in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group? Data for the study were collected using methods that are associated with qualitative research, specifically, whole group and individual semi-structured interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994), participant observation (Spradley, 1980), and the collection of written artifacts. To analyze the data I made use of grounded theory (Charmaz, 2003; Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1998). Open and axial coding (Strauss & Corbin, 1998) were used to identify emergent and recurring themes, while selective coding was used to integrate and refine them. These issues are explored in detail in the third chapter of this dissertation, which examines the study’s methodology. Having observed that paradigmatic differences play a decisive role in determining which methods are brought to bear on a research design, Guba and Lincoln (1994) caution that “no inquirer…ought to go about the business of inquiry without being clear about just what paradigm informs and guides his or her approach” (p. 116). In the section to follow, I locate my case study in the constructivist paradigm (Denzin & Lincoln, 2003), foregrounding its relativist ontological and epistemological underpinnings. Following this, I trace the study’s origins to my experiences using graphic novels with prospective educators in a young
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adult literature course that I taught as a graduate student attending a large university in the Midwest. Seeing Through the Eyes of Others: The Constructivist Paradigm “The only true voyage of discovery,” wrote Marcel Proust (1929/1970), “would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to behold the universe through the eyes of another, of a hundred others, to behold the hundred universes that each of them beholds, that each of them is” (p. 179). Proust’s insistence on the value of multiple perspectives, and on the availability of multiple realities, echoes themes that are consistent with the constructivist paradigm that Denzin and Lincoln (2003) associate with qualitative research. According to Guba and Lincoln (1994), a paradigm is “a worldview that defines, for its holder, the nature of the ‘world,’ the individual’s place in it, and the range of possible relationships to that world and its parts” (p. 107). Similarly, Denzin and Lincoln (2003) regard a paradigm as a “net that contains the researcher’s epistemological, ontological, and methodological premises” (p. 33). By examining premises that are characteristic of the constructivist paradigm, my intention is to foreground the relativist epistemological, ontological, and methodological assumptions on which my study rests. Multiple paradigmatic stances are available to researchers, and the position that one takes up is understood to influence the nature of one’s research design, including the kinds of questions that are asked, the research methods that are brought to bear on a problem, and the nature of the knowledge claims that are made. Researchers situated in the positivist and postpositivist paradigms, for example, assume that analytic problems are best approached deductively and objectively. Researchers consequently endeavor to bracket personal prejudices and biases to minimize the likelihood of observer effect. Controlled experiments are thought to capture the causal relationships according to which the natural world is
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presumed to function, and a priori hypotheses are subjected to empirical analysis and tested repeatedly. To maintain an air of objectivity, researchers make use of statistical analysis as their primary method of data analysis, and findings are reported in numerical terms (Creswell, 2002/2005). Conversely, qualitative researchers situated in the constructivist paradigm acknowledge the availability of multiple realities, and assume that knowledge is coconstructed as individuals transact with one another in specific contexts (Denzin & Lincoln, 2003). Methodologically, the latter view is not without consequences. As Schwandt (1994) observes: The constructivist or interpretivist believes that to understand this world of meaning one must interpret it. The inquirer must elucidate the process of meaning construction and clarify what and how meanings are embodied in the language and actions of social actors. (p. 118) In qualitative research, recognition of this point compels researchers to study phenomena in the contexts in which they occur with the intention of understanding them from the vantage point of those who participate in and experience them (Bogdan & Biklen, 1982). Whereas positivist and post-positivist science aims to study “subjects” dispassionately, qualitative researchers collaborate with “participants” to construct shared understandings of issues or events under investigation. Another difference between the positivist/post-positivist and constructivist paradigms is that researchers situated in the latter allow their findings to emerge as they work in the field (Glaser & Strauss, 1967), as opposed to entering a study with a priori hypotheses. Data collection and data analysis occur concurrently, and researchers sift through their data in search of patterns that are presumed to account for aspects of the phenomena under investigation. As findings are generated, they are in turn shared with—and critiqued by—
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participants through a process of member checking (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). As new issues of interest arise, researchers make use of theoretical sampling (Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1998) to explore them. In doing so they narrow their focus and return to the field in search of additional data. In this sense the process of conducting qualitative research might be thought to approximate the form of a funnel—that is, as a “researcher’s hypotheses become more focused, observations become more focused, which in turn enables hypotheses to be focused further” (Johnstone, 2000, p. 94). My decision to conduct a case study was founded on ontological, epistemological, and methodological assumptions that are characteristic of the constructivist paradigm. To understand how a group of high school students read and talked about graphic novels, I examined their transactions with them in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group. Given my desire to access their viewpoints, data were collected using methods that are associated with qualitative research, specifically, whole group and individual semistructured interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994), participant observation (Spradley, 1980), and the collection of written artifacts. Rather than enter the study with a priori hypotheses, I instead allowed my findings to emerge from the data. As themes emerged during data analysis, I returned to the field and used theoretical sampling (Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1998) to gather additional data in order to further develop my understanding of them. Whenever possible emergent findings were shared with the participants through a process of member checking (Lincoln & Guba, 1985), a result of my desire to elicit their feedback and construct shared understandings of our experiences in the reading group. In keeping with the constructivist paradigm’s insistence that knowledge is problematic and subject to contest, the findings that are reported in this dissertation are understood to constitute one of many possible stories the data will support.
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Tracing the Origins of the Research Project As explained in the preceding section, the constructivist paradigm in which I situated myself as a researcher is premised on relativist ontological and epistemological assumptions, and acknowledges the impossibility of abandoning one’s subjective position. Recognition of this point is significant given that in qualitative research the researcher is regarded as the primary research instrument (Bogdan & Biklen, 1982; Janesick, 2003). The researcher designs a study and selects a research site and participants. Similarly, the researcher collects data, interprets them, and reports subsequent findings. Qualitative researchers consequently recognize that research is ideological, and they acknowledge that the values one brings to a study act as a filter through which phenomena are viewed and interpreted. As Guba (1990) observes, “Nature cannot be seen as it ‘really is’ or ‘really works’ except through a value window” (p. 24). It is my situatedness in the constructivist paradigm that motivated my decision to write my dissertation using the “I” that is associated with the first-person viewpoint. The observation that “there is no value-free or bias-free design” (Janesick, 2003, p. 56) compels researchers in the constructivist paradigm to be forthcoming and articulate the rationale behind the decisions they make, whether that be selecting a problem to study, or locating one’s research in a particular site. In the section to follow, I trace the origins of this qualitative research project to my experiences reading works written in the medium of comics, and to my experiences using graphic novels with undergraduates in a young adult literature course that I taught at a large university. In doing so my intention is to foreground assumptions on which my study rests. “You call that reading?” As a child growing up in a white, middle-class home, I was an avid reader, and my parents, both of whom were elementary school teachers, made
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every effort to ensure that I was given access to a range of reading materials. Possibly because my mother studied art in college and was sensitive to the value of images, neither of my parents was averse to the idea of my reading comic books. At a time long before graphic novels were sold in mainstream book stores, I accompanied my parents on trips to the local pharmacy where, as I waited for them to conduct their business, I passed time sifting through revolving magazine racks that were rife with brightly colored stories about caped crusaders. On those occasions when my parents consented to purchase a comic book for me, I returned home and retreated to the sanctity of my bedroom where I delighted in reading stories about costumed heroes who somehow remained impervious to the dastardly schemes their nemeses dreamed up. The teachers at the Catholic elementary school I attended were less enthusiastic about my preferred choice of reading material. Students who were unlucky enough to get caught with a comic book in school invariably faced the question, “What do you think you’re doing?” Those who failed to appreciate the severity of their transgressions might reply, “Reading,” which inevitably triggered the dreaded rejoinder, “You call that reading?” Unlike my home environment, which valued many kinds of texts, my earliest experiences with school-sponsored literacy (Brandt, 2001) led me to understand that some forms of text are more highly regarded than others, an observation that was reinforced throughout the time I spent as a high school student and college undergraduate in traditional English programs. By the time I began teaching high school English in 1993, I was firmly situated as a member of an interpretive community (Fish, 1980) that privileged canonical literature over other forms of reading material. Like Radway (1997), I, too, found that I had been asked by my “professional training to identify against myself, my family, and my past in order to construct myself as an intellectual” (p. 121).
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This is not to suggest that I abandoned comic books entirely. To the contrary, I continued to read them (albeit less frequently), though I came to regard them as a guilty pleasure that was best kept from my colleagues. The possibility that comic books—or any other form of text that commingled word and image for that matter—might occupy a place in the secondary literature curriculum was inconceivable to a novice teacher whose apprenticeship of observation (Lortie, 1975) had been completed in traditional literature programs. By the time I enrolled in a doctoral program in English education in 2004, however, my thinking had gradually begun to undergo a shift. In the latter half of my career as a classroom teacher I came to appreciate the enthusiasm many of the students I taught showed for popular culture. The popularity of J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series had by that time reached its zenith, and it was not unusual for students to talk animatedly about unexpected plot twists or anticipated resolutions before class. Equally evident was the voracious appetite many freshmen and sophomores showed for manga, the Japanese equivalent of American comics. Thus, when a guest speaker who addressed a popular culture course in which I enrolled during my first quarter in graduate school referred to the popularity comic books enjoyed with adolescent audiences, my interest was piqued, and I submersed myself in reading what literature had been written about the role comic books and—by that time—graphic novels might play in educational contexts. Arguments for using comic books and graphic novels in the classroom occasionally, though by no means always (Carter, 2007; Versaci, 2001, 2007), focus on their ability to motivate reluctant readers (Crawford, 2004; Dorrell, 1987; Simmons, 2003; Snowball, 2005), and support English language learners (Chun, 2009; Ranker, 2007; Williams, 1995). Others celebrate their ability to support students who struggle with literacy as it is traditionally conceived (Bitz, 2004; Frey & Fisher, 2004; Morrison et al., 2002). As I continued to
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encounter these and other arguments over time, they struck me as perpetuating—even if inadvertently—a misperception in that they seemed to regard graphic novels as a less sophisticated form of reading material that is best used to support weaker readers and lead them to transact with more traditional—and presumably more valuable—forms of literature. “Is this the case?” I found myself asking. “What demands, if any, do multimodal texts place on proficient readers? In what ways might such readers interact with them?” My experiences teaching a young adult literature course for undergraduates at a major university in the Midwest further deepened my interest in those questions. “That’s not reading!” The questions that I found myself asking about graphic novels and multimodal reading grew more pronounced when, as a graduate teaching associate, I decided to use graphic novels in a course that was designed to introduce undergraduates to the field of young adult literature. Having subscribed to conventional wisdom that suggests contemporary students are more visually oriented than their predecessors, I naively assumed that they would welcome the opportunity to read a graphic novel. Some did. Others, however, resisted them, a pattern that continued to repeat itself in spite of changes that I made to the titles students read from one quarter to the next. One assignment that I used in the course required students to compose three critical response papers in which they responded to works of literature they were asked to read. Two of the papers asked the students to address traditional young adult novels—that is, narratives told using print text—while the third required them to respond to a graphic novel. Each quarter the response papers seemed to suggest that the manner in which students read and experienced graphic novels was influenced by two factors: their experience reading other comic books or graphic novels, and their willingness to acknowledge texts that incorporate word and image as a legitimate form of reading material. Though their responses were no
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less valid, students who lacked experience reading comic books and graphic novels (surprisingly, the majority) tended to focus on surface issues related to plot in their response papers. Conversely, those students who identified themselves as having read comic books and graphic novels, and who argued for their literary value, seemed more comfortable constructing arguments that led them to critically examine the assigned texts. More surprising to me was discovering that the inclusion of images in graphic novels offended students who associated them with childhood reading, and who insisted that secondary students warranted more respect. Others argued that the dearth of written text in graphic novels deprived students of opportunities to think critically, an objective to which they assigned considerable weight. Of course, not all of the criticism leveled against graphic novels was negative. There were inevitably students who had not read graphic novels before and who appreciated the opportunity to do so. Still, when asked to describe their experience reading them, a surprisingly large number recalled getting lost in confusing page layouts, or focusing on written text as they read despite sensing that the images were important to the narrative as well. As time passed, experiences of this sort led me to question NCTE’s (2005) assertion that “students are very sophisticated readers…of multimodal work” (Declarations Concerning the Broadest section, para. 16). Likewise, they led me to recognize what I increasingly came to regard as a paradox—namely, that a form of text some educators associated with struggling or reluctant readers had the potential to challenge students that I regarded as proficient readers. I was also troubled by the relative ease with which prospective educators—many of whom were presumably members of a so-called “visual generation”—dismissed texts that commingled word and image as worthy of serious study. In doing so they discounted the host of multimodal texts with which adolescents interact in
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their daily lives, and which Moje (2008) suggests constitute their preferred form of reading material (p. 207). Worse, they embraced the same narrow definition of literature that I held as a classroom teacher, one that led me to overlook the value of texts and literacies that were important to the students with whom I worked. According to Levine (1988), “In defining and redefining the contours of culture, we are not merely dealing with intellectual abstractions; we are dealing with lives and minds, we are dealing with people, and we owe them more than the hubris of narrow self-defense” (p. 256). Recognition of this point, coupled with my desire to understand how readers experience multimodal texts, led me to undertake a case study that asked how a group of high school students conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, what semiotic resources they drew on as they read them, and how, if at all, talking about them with other readers in a reading group influenced their conceptions of graphic novels. To answer these questions, I chose to work with a group of students in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group that I assembled at a high school with a local reputation for academic excellence. My rationale for assembling a reading group is outlined in the section to follow. Rationale for Assembling an After-School Reading Group My decision to assemble a graphic novel reading group comprised of volunteers, as opposed to working with students in the context of a high school English language arts class, was motivated by a number of factors. First, as a former high school teacher, I was sensitive to the fact that secondary English teachers are under considerable pressure to address an everexpanding curriculum while at the same time preparing students to experience success on high-stakes standardized assessments. I consequently assumed that it would prove difficult to locate an English teacher with the flexibility needed to accommodate a research project that sought to understand how students responded to four graphic novels over an extended
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period of time. Indeed, doing so presented a challenge for Hammond (2009), who asked how high school seniors in a political science class responded to a graphic novel she invited them to read. Citing directions for future research, she pointed to the possibility of studying “a graphic novel book club already established or established for the purposes of the study” (p. 176). While locating my study in a classroom would have allowed me to work with a larger participant pool, it would have simultaneously created a logistical problem—namely, how to ensure that a sizable number of students had access to the prerequisite graphic novels. Assembling a reading group proved advantageous in that it enabled me to control the size of my participant population, which in turn made it possible for me to purchase the graphic novels they were expected to read, as well as the response journals they were required to maintain, using a small research grant that I obtained from NCTE’s Assembly on Adolescent Literature (ALAN) in November 2008. This arrangement ensured that the participants were able to keep the graphic novels they read, an act of reciprocity that acknowledged their willingness to participate in my study. My decision to work with volunteers was motivated by an additional factor—namely, an assumption on my behalf that because they were volunteering to take part in a reading group, they would be motivated to read the assigned graphic novels and keep pace with their obligations in the study, thereby alleviating some of the pitfalls that can accompany a decision to work with students in the context of a compulsory English class. On a final note, I suspected that a classroom teacher who lacked familiarity with graphic novels might feel uncomfortable engaging students in conversation about them (Annett, 2008). Assembling a reading group in which I was situated as a participant observer (Spradley, 1980) made it
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possible for me to draw on the knowledge of graphic novels that I had acquired as a life-long comics reader and facilitate the bi-weekly discussions myself. Significance of the Study Given their resemblance to comic books, one might assume that efforts to introduce graphic novels in educational contexts would encounter resistance. Indeed, as I explain in chapter two, beginning with the 1895 publication of Richard Felton Outcault’s Hogan’s Alley, a popular comic strip that was set in New York City’s Lower East Side, and which featured a group of brash, youthful immigrant characters, educators—particularly those who have been situated as guardians of literacy—have historically held works written in the medium of comics in low regard (Hajdu, 2008; Nyberg, 1998). Initially, educators were critical of comics strips that featured characters from immigrant backgrounds whose use of the vernacular and derision of authority figures were treated as sources of humor (Nyberg, 1998). Later, when comic books found an audience with adolescents in the early 1940s, a new generation of literacy educators questioned the influence they had on adolescents’ reading (Hajdu, 2008; Nyberg, 1998). Specifically, critics of the comic book charged them with disrupting young people’s development as readers, and with undermining their ability to appreciate quality—that is, canonical—literature (North, 1940; Wertham, 1954). Having administered a survey that was designed to gauge the extent of the “comic-magazine problem” in one Minnesota school system, McCarthy and Smith (1943) concluded that reading comic books served only to ensure that a student: will have formed a habit of sliding over words which he does not know; that he will have lessened his sense of artistic values; and that he will have put himself over and over again into a state of hyperexcitment where nothing but the most thrilling can give him adequate satisfaction. (p. 101)
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The psychologist Fredric Wertham (1954), whose book Seduction of the Innocent played a role in bringing about a congressional hearing on the comic book industry in 1954, put the matter more succinctly: “Comic books,” Wertham (1954) wrote, “are death on reading” (p. 121). In recent years sociocultural theories of literacy learning (Heath, 1982, 1983; Street, 1984), coupled with a proliferation of digital texts, have led a growing number of educators to challenge traditionally received definitions of literacy and embrace a more comprehensive view of text (Gee, 2003; New London Group, 1996). Likewise, researchers have expressed an interest in understanding the “multiliteracies” (New London Group, 1996, p. 63), or “new literacies,” that adolescents are thought to bring to the classroom. In its guideline statement on adolescent literacy, NCTE (2004) observes: Adolescents are already reading in multiple ways, using literacy as a social and political endeavor in which they engage to make meaning and act upon their worlds. Their texts range from clothing logos to music to specialty magazines to web sites to popular and classical literature. In the classroom it is important for teachers to recognize and value the multiple literacy resources students bring to the acquisition of school literacy. (What is Unique section, para. 2) In the same statement, NCTE argues, “text should be broadly viewed to include print, electronic, and visual media” (What Adolescent Readers section, para. 1). Confronted with a need to rethink their commitment to print literacy, a growing number of literacy educators have taken heed of Schwarz’s (2002) observation that “in an increasingly visual culture, literacy educators can profit from the use of graphic novels in the classroom, especially for young adults” (p. 262). Among the more commonly cited reasons for using graphic novels in academic settings is their popularity with adolescents (HughesHassell & Rodge, 2007; Poerschke, 2005; Worthy et al., 1999), their ability to motivate socalled “reluctant” readers (Crawford, 2004; Dorrell, 1987; Simmons, 2003; Snowball, 2005),
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and their value as a tool for supporting students who struggle with reading and writing (Bitz, 2004; Frey & Fisher, 2004; Morrison et al., 2002). I explore these arguments more closely in the sections to follow. Appeal of Graphic Novels to Adolescents Proponents of comic books and graphic novels often cite their popularity with adolescents as a reason for using them in educational contexts. According to Wright and Sherman (2006), reading interest research has attested to the appeal comics have held for children and teenagers for the past fifty years: Witty (1949) and Witty and Sizemore (1955) have reported the comic section of the newspapers as the favorite section by 85% of the children respondents and that 90% of children between the ages of 8 and 13 read comics frequently. Norvell’s (1973) longitudinal study on school age children’s reading interest produced results similar to those reported by Witty. Dechant and Smith (1977) found comic strip materials to be popular with intermediate, junior high school, and even primary age children. McKenna (1986) found that comics were the strongest reading interest of 576 junior and senior high school struggling readers. (p. 168) As will be seen in chapter two, reader interest research undertaken in the past decade suggests that comic books—and, more recently, graphic novels—remain popular with young adult readers (Hughes-Hassell & Rodge, 2007; Poerschke, 2005; Worthy et al., 1999). Recent sales figures provide another index of the graphic novel’s popularity with adolescents. According to Publishers Weekly, the sale of graphic novels in the United States accounted for approximately $210 million in revenue in 2004, a 35% increase over the preceding year (Reid, 2005, p. 15). By 2007 that number had ballooned to $375 million (“Graphic Novel,” 2008, p. 8). Although adults continue to purchase the majority of the graphic novels sold in the United States, Bucher and Manning (2004) observe that “graphic novels represent one of the most popular and fastest-growing types of young adult literature” (p. 67), an assertion that is born out by recent trends in the publishing industry.
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In 2005, Scholastic Books introduced the imprint Graphix, under which it has published graphic novels for readers between the ages of 8 and 13 (Deahl, 2007, p. 25). First Second Books, an imprint of Roaring Brook Press and a subsidiary of MacMillan, publishes literary graphic novels for children, young adults, and adults. One of its titles, American Born Chinese, won the American Library Association’s Michael L. Printz award in 2006, and became the first graphic novel nominated for the prestigious National Book Award for Young People’s Literature in the same year. In 2007, DC, known primarily for publishing superhero comic books, introduced a line of graphic novels for teenage girls. Published under the imprint Minx, the books target girls between the ages of 13 and 18, and are said to represent “an alternative to YA fiction that touches on the classic themes that come with the territory—social insecurities, parental miscommunication, boys, etc.—but does so in graphic novel format” (Deahl, 2007, p. 25). As publishers market graphic novels to adolescent audiences, and as multimodal texts continue to proliferate, there is a need for educators to help students think critically about the manner in which they function from the standpoint of design. Such an undertaking necessitates acknowledging their visual design, as well as their linguistic design. To talk critically about the visual aspect of graphic novels, students and teachers require recourse to what the New London Group (1996) refers to as a “metalanguage”—that is, a language that equips them with the conceptual categories and vocabulary needed to analyze images and other semiotic resources in specific terms. At the current time, evidence suggests that teachers themselves may lack recourse to such a language. In one of the few studies that asked how English teachers use graphic novels in the classroom, Annett (2008) found that his informants considered “themselves weakest in the vocabulary of the graphic texts and the history of the genre” (p. 168). Likewise, they reported knowing colleagues who were
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interested in using graphic novels, but who were reluctant to do so as a result of their own discomfort with them. To date, few studies have asked how high school students respond to comic books and graphic novels. When that question has been taken up, researchers have identified general categories of response—for example, making personal connections, evaluating a text, asking questions, etc. (Hammond, 2009; Martin, 1992). By conducting a case study that asked how a group of high school students read and talked about graphic novels in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group, my intention was to identify semiotic resources they drew on as readers, and in doing so understand how they used them to construct meaning. By shedding light on these processes, I hoped to establish a foundation that would enable future scholars to construct a metalanguage (New London Group, 1996) that teachers and students could use to think and talk critically about their transactions with graphic novels, and, by extension, other forms of multimodal texts. Graphic Novels as a Tool to Support Struggling Students As previously noted, the popularity that comic books and graphic novels enjoy with young adult audiences has led some educators and librarians to celebrate their ability to motivate—or engage—so-called “reluctant” readers (Crawford, 2004; Dorrell, 1987; Simmons, 2003; Snowball, 2005). Others advocate using them to support English language learners (Chun, 2009; Ranker, 2007; Williams, 1995), while still others celebrate their ability to support students who struggle with reading and writing as they are traditionally conceived (Bitz, 2004; Frey & Fisher, 2004; Morrison et al., 2002). Such arguments have the unintended effect of establishing a link between graphic novels and less academically inclined students, and in doing so they perpetuate—even if unwittingly—a misperception that has long plagued works written in the medium of comics. Namely, it regards graphic novels
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as a less sophisticated, less complex form of reading material that is best used to lead struggling readers to transact with more challenging, presumably more valuable forms of literature. To this end, Weiner (2004) credits graphic novels with “serving as transitions into more print intensive works, enticing reluctant readers into prose books and, in some cases, offering literary experiences that linger in the mind long after the book is finished” (p. 115). That readers might find aesthetic pleasure in transacting with graphic novels is, as the aforementioned quote indirectly suggests, often an afterthought. As Romanelli (2009) observes, multimodal texts, graphic novels included, are seldom acknowledged “as texts worthy of serious academic study as literature or composition” (p. 166). As a growing number of literacy educators recognize, however, works written in the medium of comics are not an unsophisticated form of reading material (Allen & Ingulsrud, 2003; Jacobs, 2007; Versaci, 2001, 2007), nor are graphic novels the provenance of struggling readers (Carter, 2007). Having conducted a research project that examined the reading interests of 9,000 high school students in a diverse suburban school district in Southeast Texas, Poerschke (2005) observed “a small, yet steady, increase in comic reading from struggling readers, to average readers, to good readers” (p. 296). Recognition of this point led her to speculate that “more proficient readers read more comics, cartoons, comic books, and graphic novels” (p. 296). To date, few applied studies have asked how proficient readers, particularly those at the high school level, experience graphic novels, a gap in the literature that my study sought to address. Reconceptualizing Graphic Novels as Educational Tools As graphic novels continue to grow in popularity, they have drawn attention from educators in the field of children’s literature and literature for adolescents. According to Hatfield (2006), the Norton Anthology of Children’s Literature featured a chapter on comics
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in 2005. Similarly, the most recent edition of Nilsen and Donelson’s (2009) Literature for Today’s Young Adults, a respected textbook that argues for the value of creating opportunities for adolescents to interact with literature that is written for—and appeals to—them, includes a discussion on graphic novels, as well as comic books. Hatfield (2006) observes that “gatekeepers in children’s publishing are…re-approaching comics” (p. 361), a point that was addressed earlier in this chapter when I observed that publishers are increasingly marketing graphic novels to children and adolescents. Insisting that comics constitute a “gateway to literacy for young kids” (Reid, 2007, p. 22), Francois Mouly, whose husband, Art Spiegelman, wrote the Pulitzer award-winning graphic novel Maus, introduced a “line of book format comics called Toon Books, aimed at readers age four and up, [and] designed to nurture basic reading skills and encourage a love of visual storytelling” (p. 22). School administrators have expressed a willingness to entertain the educational possibilities that graphic novels pose as well. In 2006, the Maryland State Department of Education distributed Disney comic books to 200 elementary classrooms throughout the state as part of a pilot program known as “Maryland Comics in the Classroom.” According to Park (2008), the program was undertaken with the intention of generating interest in reading, and proved successful enough that plans were made to introduce a line of graphic novels that retell the classics to students at the middle school level beginning in 2009. Elsewhere, Reid (2007) reports that Nancy S. Grasmick, then Superintendent of Schools in Maryland, met with Francois Mouly and agreed to add Toon Books to the state’s “Comics in the Classroom” initiative, thereby expanding the program. In the spring of 2008, Diamond Book Distributors, the largest distributor of Englishlanguage comic books, facilitated in-service training sessions for hundreds of K-12 school librarians throughout New York City’s five boroughs. The sessions focused on “collection
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development, lesson plans, and how graphic novels appeal to all levels of readers” (“Cred for Comics,” 2008, p. 16). Despite her enthusiasm for the educational possibilities that graphic novels present, Barbara Stripling, director of New York City’s school libraries, nonetheless acknowledged a need to proceed with caution. “We need to know why these are good for kids,” she explained, “if we’re going to sell them to teachers and administrators” (p. 16). Conclusion Stripling’s insistence on the need to understand the benefits that accompany a decision to use graphic novels in educational contexts assumes greater force in light of the dearth of applied research that has asked how secondary students conceive of them as a form of reading material, how they draw on the semiotic resources they employ to construct meaning, or how talking about them with other readers might influence their conceptions of graphic novels. The case study that I undertook sought to address a gap in the literature on multimodal reading, while at the same time contributing to the understanding of those in the field of English education who wish to make use of graphic novels in the classroom. Specifically, it asked how six high school students, all of whom were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers, conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, how they drew on the semiotic resources they encountered to interpret them, and how, if at all, participating in an after-school reading group influenced the manner in which they thought about and interacted with graphic novels. As my review of the literature in chapter two indicates, my study was not explicitly concerned with the pedagogical ends toward which graphic novels might be put, a subject that has been afforded ample treatment elsewhere (Bitz, 2004; Carter, 2007; Monnin, 2010; Morrison et al., 2002; Schwarz, 2002, 2006). Rather, following Nodelman (1988), I assumed that:
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a single-minded concern with pedagogy deprives children and other readers of the benefits, pedagogical and otherwise, that must inevitably result from more intense looking and deeper understanding. The more we are capable of understanding and finding words to describe our responses to works of art, the more we are able to enjoy them. (pp. x-xi) In the chapter to follow, I review the related literature that informed my study, and construct the theoretical framework that I drew on to analyze my data and understand how six high school students experienced graphic novels in the context of an after-school reading group.
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CHAPTER 2: REVIEW OF THE RELATED LITERATURE
As readers will recall, my qualitative research project sought to understand how six high school students, all of whom were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers, conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, and how they read and talked about them in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group that met between January and May 2009. To begin this literature review I trace the origins of the graphic novel, and examine the way educators have historically responded to comics, which, following other comics scholars, I define as a medium, rather than a genre (Chute, 2008; McCloud, 1993; Wolk, 2007). Following this, I review related scholarship in four areas— sociocultural theories of literacy and learning; semiotic perspectives on multimodality; multimodal literacy as a process of design; and reader response criticism—with the intention of constructing the theoretical framework that informed my analysis of the data. Having done so, I review the work of a select group of scholars who have asked how comics mean. To conclude the chapter, I review a select body of research that has attested to the appeal that works written in the medium of comics hold for adolescent audiences, and that has sought to understand how readers—adolescents in particular—respond to comic books, graphic novels, and manga.
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Tracing the Origins of the Graphic Novel Definitions and Defining Characteristics of the Medium of Comics Comics scholars generally agree that comics, which conjoin word and image to convey information, constitutes a medium, as opposed to a genre (Chute, 2008; McCloud, 1993; Wolk, 2007). Whereas genres are distinguishable by the kinds of stories they convey and the conventions they employ to do so, the medium of comics—like film, prose fiction, and other forms of media—lends itself to addressing a range of content. In recent years scholars have attempted to define comics in precise terms, an undertaking that has proved challenging. One of the earliest writers to theorize comics, the cartoonist Will Eisner (1985) construes it as a form of reading that entails “both visual and verbal interpretive skills,” and that demands a sense of familiarity with what he refers to as the “the ‘grammar’ of Sequential Art” (p. 8). In Understanding Comics, McCloud (1993) defines comics as “juxtaposed pictorial and other images in deliberate sequence, intended to convey information and/or to produce an aesthetic response in the viewer” (p. 9). As Harvey (1996) observes, however, the latter definition fails to acknowledge the equally important role that a verbal component plays in comics. Additionally, I would argue that McCloud’s (1993) definition encompasses texts that common sense suggests are not comics, such as children’s picturebooks. Kunzle’s (1973) efforts to trace the lineage of the comic strip led him to identify four defining characteristics of the form. Specifically, he argues that: (1) there must be a sequence of separate images; (2) there must be a preponderance of image over text; (3) the medium must be a mass medium; and (4) the sequence must tell a story that is topical and moral (pp. 2-3). Carrier (2000) observes that Kunzle (1973) does not regard the speech balloon, a convention that is commonly used to attribute dialogue to a speaker in comics, as a defining feature of the comic strip. Expanding on this point, Carrier (2000) argues that “the
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full integration of words into pictures in the speech balloon creates a new art, which raises novel aesthetic problems” (p. 4), an observation with which I agree. Following Chute (2008), I define the medium of comics in this dissertation as a “hybrid word-and-image form in which two narrative tracks, one verbal and one visual, register temporality spatially” (p. 452). Whereas the breadth of the definitions McCloud (1993) and Kunzle (1973) construct make it possible for them to locate the origins of comics in the distant past, comics scholars generally credit Hogan’s Alley, which appeared in the Sunday supplement section of Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World in 1895, with having been the first commercially successful comic strip in the United States (Harvey, 1994). The strip, which is best known for one of its characters, the Yellow Kid, followed the exploits of a group of rag-tag immigrant children who inhabited New York City’s Lower East Side, who spoke in colloquialisms, and who showed astonishingly little regard for authority figures. The popularity Hogan’s Alley enjoyed with a mainstream audience, coupled with the commercial success it experienced, spawned a legion of imitators in the decade to follow. Indeed, when Hearst lured Pulitzer’s staff—Outcault included—to the New York Journal in 1896, Hogan’s Alley was published simultaneously in two newspapers. Whereas earlier comic strips were embraced by the masses as a popular form of entertainment, educators, particularly those who were entrusted with acting as custodians for young people’s literacy, questioned their merit. Educator Perceptions of the Comic Strip: 1895-1930s According to Hajdu (2008), early comic strips “spoke to and of the swelling immigrant populations in New York and other cities where comics spread” (p. 11). Generally speaking, the characters that populated early comic strips were derived from immigrant and working class backgrounds, and it was not unusual for them to draw laughs at the expense of members of the upper class. This concerned some authority figures, as well as
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teachers, who were entrusted by society with the responsibility of fostering cultural homogeneity and promoting assimilation (Graff, 1979/1991). According to Nyberg (1998), in the early years of the twentieth century a number of educators and Sunday school teachers questioned the influence that reading comics had on children. A growing concern with foreign events, however, coupled with fears that the United States would enter the First World War, detracted from the momentum early protests over the comic strip might otherwise have gained (Hajdu, 2008; Nyberg, 1998). Thus, as one educator writing in the first part of the twentieth century observed, “By 1910, all but a few die-hards were forced to admit that the ‘funnies’ were here to stay” (Gay, 1937, p. 199). If the American public had come to embrace the comic strip as an institution in the realm of popular culture by the 1920s, the emergence of what Harvey (1994) deems the adventure strip in the late 1920s and early 1930s prompted a new generation of educators to question the influence comics had on children’s reading. Whereas many early comic strips were humor-oriented, adventure strips such as Milton Caniff’s Terry and the Pirates, Alex Raymond’s Flash Gordon, and Harold Foster’s Tarzan hinged on action and suspense. Unlike their predecessors, they were drawn in a realistic manner, and they often featured fight scenes, as well as curvaceous female characters (Harvey, 1994). Having undertaken a study in which he sought to determine the influence comic strips in eight Boston newspapers had on young readers, Gay (1937), a classroom teacher, concluded that many adventure strips were inappropriate for consumption by juvenile audiences. He was particularly critical of their aesthetic value, and he assailed the illustrations they employed as “art on its lowest plane” (p. 206). According to Gay (1937), comic strips posed two threats to artistic sensibilities. “In the first place,” he wrote, “artistic appreciations are probably lowered to an appreciable degree by the ‘funnies’ and secondly,
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with such low artistic standards, the comic strip may do much to hinder the development of our national art” (p. 206). Within a few years the emergence of the comic book as a facet of youth culture would prompt literacy educators to express similar concerns. In particular, they would lament the pernicious influence this new form of reading material was presumed to have on the aesthetic tastes of developing readers. The Birth of the Comic Book: 1930s-1940s Prior to the 1930s it was not unusual for publishers to reprint old Sunday comic strips in book and magazine form and give them away as part of promotional campaigns. Indeed, Funnies on Parade, which is generally regarded as the first comic book, was published by Eastern Color in 1933 at the recommendation of two salesmen, Max C. Gaines and Harry Wildenburg, and given away as part of a promotional campaign for Proctor & Gamble. When Gaines sold Famous Funnies, a subsequent collection of previously published Sunday comics, for ten cents in 1934, he made arrangements to distribute the book through the American News Company, the result of which meant that comic books were available for purchase at newsstands on a monthly basis for the first time. In 1935 Major Malcolm Wheeler-Nicholson, a former cavalry officer with experience writing dime novels, published New Fun, a comic book that consisted of never before published stories. Far from intending to earn a profit selling comic books, WheelerNicholson instead hoped to attract the attention of national syndicates to whom he could sell new material for publication in newspapers. Plagued by financial problems, he entered into business with his printer, Harry Donenfeld, in 1937, and together the two formed Detective Comics. Donenfeld eventually drove Wheeler-Nicholson out of the partnership, however, and in 1938 his company published Action Comics No. 1. The comic book featured a story that was written and illustrated by two teenagers from Cleveland, Ohio who introduced
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readers to a character with superhuman strength. Although no one anticipated it at the time, this event would transform the fledgling comic book industry, and lead a new generation of educators who were entrusted with the responsibility of overseeing the literacy practices of the young to question the influence comics had on children’s reading. Like many adults, literacy educators likely paid little attention when Superman made his debut in Action Comics No. 1 in 1938. Within two years, however, the commercial success the character experienced, coupled with the legion of imitators he spawned, made it difficult for them to do so any longer. The Debate Over the Literary Merit of Comic Books: 1940s-1950s According to Hajdu (2008), the number of comic books published in the United States grew from 150 in 1937 to approximately 700 in 1940 (p. 34). Whereas the connection adults later drew between comic books and juvenile delinquency would gain traction in the late 1940s and early 1950s, much of the early criticism leveled against this new form of reading material concentrated on its perceived aesthetic value—or lack thereof. In that sense it echoed much of the criticism that was leveled again the comic strip earlier in the century. In an editorial that was published on May 8, 1940, titled “A National Disgrace,” Sterling North, a literary critic for the Chicago Daily News, chastised the comic book for, amongst other things, being “badly drawn, badly written and badly printed” (p. 56). In doing so he argued that it was the responsibility of parents and educators to “break the ‘comic’ magazine,” and he prescribed what he recognized as the appropriate antidote—it was necessary, North (1940) argued, to ensure that young readers had recourse to quality literature. Parents and teachers who neglected to substitute traditional literature in place of comic books were, in his opinion, “guilty of criminal negligence” (p. 56).
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That the Daily News is reported to have received over twenty-five million requests to reprint North’s editorial is evidence of the extent to which his call-to-action resonated with the American public (Nyberg, 1998, p. 4). According to Nyberg, North’s criticism was especially significant in that it positioned the comic book as a form of juvenile reading material, even though there was nothing inherently childish about the medium itself. In forging this association, Nyberg (1998) argues, North and other early critics were successful in shaping “the public perception that comic books were exclusively for children” (p. 4), a view that would continue to plague the medium for years to come. As was the case when the comic strip rose to popularity in the early years of the twentieth century, the public outcry over the influence comic books were thought to have on children’s reading dissipated amidst growing concerns that the United States would enter World War II (Nyberg, 1998). Nevertheless, professional journals aimed at librarians and teachers continued to debate the influence comic books were thought to have on young readers throughout the 1940s. That these two professional communities should express an interest in comic books is perhaps not surprising. According to Beaty (2005), librarians understood themselves to have been “charged with protecting the nation’s literary heritage [while teachers] saw themselves as at least partially responsible for the safeguarding of American children” (p. 106). Similarly, Nyberg (1998) argues that the comic book emerged at a time when teachers and librarians had assumed increased responsibility for overseeing the reading habits of the young. Converting Comic Book Heathens To be sure, there was no shortage of teachers and librarians willing to denounce the pernicious influence comic books were thought to have on children’s reading. According to
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Nyberg (1998), arguments levied against comic books were generally premised on the following assumptions: comics tend to crowd out reading of a more desirable type; they are too easy to read and spoil the taste for better reading; the adventures are so fantastic that children do not acquire an understanding of the world that comes from better literature; there is little progression of reading experience in comics; the artwork is of inferior quality; and the books are poorly printed on cheap paper and hard on the eyes. (p. 9) Though it is less often acknowledged, there were teachers and librarians who recognized the appeal that comic books held for young audiences, and who advocated adopting a more tolerant approach to dealing with them. One article, published in The English Journal and entitled “Comic books—A Challenge to the English Teacher,” began by identifying a challenge its author assumed that “new” media of the time posed for literacy educators: The teaching of English today is a far more complex matter than it was thirty or forty years ago. It is not that the essential character of the adolescent student has changed, or that the principles of grammar or the tenets that govern good literature have been greatly modified, but rather that the average student of the present is being molded in many ways by three potent influences: the movies, the radio, and the comic book. (Dias, 1946, p. 142) Rather than condemn comic books as a pernicious influence, the author encouraged educators to appropriate them as a tool they could use to generate interest on the part of students in traditional literature. Characterizing his efforts to work toward this end as “missionary work among [his] comic-book heathens,” he outlined the approach he followed to engage students in conversation about the comic books they read with the intention of identifying a genre that appealed to them (Dias, 1946, p. 143). Having done so, he recommended a traditional work of literature that belonged to the same genre, and that he assumed might interest them. He credited this approach with having allowed him to build on students’ interest and use comic books “constructively as a stepping stone to a lasting interest in good literature” (Dias, 1946, p. 142).
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Other educators adopted a similar approach to respond to what many adults regarded as a “comic magazine problem” (McCarthy & Smith, 1943, p. 98). Harriet Lee (1942), who taught freshman English, observed that whereas teachers recognized a need to encourage students to evaluate their experiences with film and radio, they largely ignored comic books. Citing the success she experienced teaching a series of units that challenged students to critically assess the literary merit of their favorite comic books and comic strips, she called on her fellow educators to do the same. Fleda Kinneman (1943), another high school English teacher, attested to the success she experienced when she employed a similar approach. Arguing that her students came to appreciate the lack of sophistication in comic books when they were given opportunities to talk about them, she attested to her desire to serve as “a catalyzer in [the] growing-up process” (p. 332). One year later, W. W. D. Sones (1944), a professor of education at the University of Pittsburgh, argued for the educational merit of comic books, and cited research that indicated they could be used to support “slow” readers and motivate “non-academic” students (p. 234), a population whose alleged lack of interest in school-based reading appears to have made them a forerunner to the so-called “reluctant” reader of today. Having identified other instructional ends toward which comic books lent themselves, Sones (1944) characterized them as vehicles that teachers could use “to realize the purposes of the school in the improvement of reading, language development, or acquisition of information” (p. 238). Although the aforementioned educators might have advocated putting comic books toward instructional ends, they showed little, if any, regard for their aesthetic value. Indeed, like the form’s critics, these educators were generally unable to recognize any degree of literary merit in comic books at all. As their arguments suggest, they instead regarded them as a way station on a journey whose ultimate purpose was to lead students to transact with
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traditional literature. In this sense comic books were, as one English teacher put it, “a stepping stone to the realms of good literature—the literature that is the necessary and rightful heritage of the adolescent” (Dias, 1946, p. 143). As Nyberg (1998) observes, adults, particularly those who sought to control children’s reading, failed “to understand the appeal of comic books, which they perceived as simplistic, crude, and lacking artistic or literary merit” (p. viii). Emergence of Crime and Horror Comics: Enter the Moral Debate In the latter half of the 1940s the focus of the national debate over comic books underwent a radical change. Whereas earlier critics questioned the aesthetic value of comic books, their detractors now charged them with fostering juvenile delinquency, and with interfering with the moral development of the young. Two genres in particular—crime comics and horror comics—were situated at the heart of this debate. According to Hajdu (2008), the genre of crime comics grew in popularity in the years following World War II until it eventually supplanted the superhero genre. He observes, “In 1946, crime had represented about 3 percent of all comics; in 1947, 9 percent; in 1948, 14 percent. Thirty new crime titles appeared in 1949 alone” (p. 110). In the early 1950s, the emergence of horror comics, which were at times quite gruesome in their imagery, generated further concern. In both instances educators, clergy, and lawmakers questioned the influence reading comics books that glamorized crime and sensationalized violence was likely to have on children. Additionally, they regarded them as ready-made blueprints that showed readers how to perpetrate heinous acts. At a local level, religious leaders and educators responded to the threat crime and horror comics were thought to pose by organizing grassroots movements that were designed to exert pressure on local retailers and curb the sale of objectionable comic books (Hajdu,
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2008). In some instances representatives of these groups visited local merchants and invited them to sign a pledge in which they agreed to refrain from selling crime and horror comics. At its most extreme, these movements took the form of school-sanctioned book burnings at which students who agreed to destroy their comic books were rewarded with works of canonical literature (Hajdu, 2008). Meanwhile, at a state level, elected officials sponsored legislation that aimed to regulate the production and sale of comic books. One assemblyman in New York, for example, sought to establish an organization that would have overseen the content of all comic books produced in the state, and that would have been housed in the Department of Education (Hajdu, 2008). As the preceding discussion indicates, by the early 1950s comic books had come to be regarded as a “threat to law and order, rather than simply a bad influence on children’s education” (Nyberg, 1998, p. 21). Fredric Wertham, a German-American psychiatrist, was a particularly virulent critic of comic books in the 1940s and 1950s, and the publication of his book Seduction of the Innocent played a role in bringing about a congressional investigation of the comic book industry in 1954. Although Wertham (1954) represented his work as having been founded on rigorous research, the arguments he leveled against comic books rest largely on anecdotal evidence culled from his experiences working with young people in a psychiatric clinic that he and his associates ran in New York City. Amongst other things, Wertham (1954) charged comic books with pandering to readers’ violent fantasies. Like critics before him, he also argued that comic books were detrimental to developing readers. Indeed, Wertham (1954) credited the inclusion of images in comic books with causing “the most harm to reading” (p. 139), and he argued that so-called “picture reading” was neither “real” reading nor an emergent form of reading. Instead, he characterized it as “an evasion of reading and almost its opposite” (p. 140).
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Having been made the focus of a congressional investigation that was in part inspired by the notoriety Wertham’s (1954) book achieved, and faced with the threat of external regulation, some comic book publishers, under the leadership of Archie Comics John L. Goldwater, banded together in 1954 and formed the Comics Magazine Association of America (CMAA). In doing so they adopted a self-regulating code that was modeled after one the motion picture industry adopted in the 1930s (Nyberg, 1998). It became known as the Comics Code Authority. To demonstrate their willingness to appease their critics, the CMAA consented to eliminate horror comics almost entirely. In regard to crime comics, the Comics Code established guidelines that required publishers to depict crime in a negative light, foster respect for authority figures, and refrain from depicting excessive violence (Hajdu, 2008). As Nyberg (1998) observes, the code also held comic book publishers accountable for upholding positive moral values. According to its prescribed guidelines: There was never to be any disrespect for established authority and social institutions. Good always triumphed over evil, and if evil had to be shown, it was only in order to deliver a moral message. Content would foster respect for parents and for honorable behavior. (p. 113) In so far as it relegated them to addressing non-threatening subject matter, the newly established Comics Code effectively sanitized comic books. As the publishers hoped would be the case, it also silenced their critics, prompting one educator writing for The Elementary School Journal in 1960 to proclaim, “The controversy has apparently subsided” (Emans, p. 253). According to Hatfield (2006), “the educational literature on comics fell to a murmur, until the 1970s when teachers began guardedly endorsing comics as a means of reaching the ‘reluctant’ or disabled reader” (p. 363). As had been the case in the 1940s, educators who embraced the medium of comics as a pedagogical tool largely regarded it as an
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unsophisticated form of reading material that addressed puerile subject matter and was best used to lead struggling readers to interact with more traditional, and presumably more valuable, forms of literature. In short, the view of comics as a childish form of reading material that North (1940) and other early critics of the comic book had forged was now accepted as conventional wisdom. Foundation for the Emergence of the Graphic Novel Comics scholars generally credit a series of events that transpired between 1960 and the late 1980s with having demonstrated that the medium of comics was capable of addressing substantive subject matter, and with having paved the way for the emergence of the graphic novel (Harvey, 1996). First, in the years that followed the implementation of the Comics Code, mainstream publishers searched for a genre that would appeal to members of the baby-boom generation, who were now teenagers (Nyberg, 1998). Doing so led them to reintroduce the superhero genre. Influenced by the social upheaval of the 1960s, however, the superheroes that populated these comic books were often flawed, and they questioned the integrity of social institutions their predecessors had taken for granted. Responding to the Zeitgeist, this new generation of superhero comic books also explored issues that were socially and culturally relevant, including drug use, racism, poverty, and the destruction of the environment (Harvey, 1996). By the 1980s comic books such as Watchmen, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (1987), and Batman: The Dark Knight Returns, by Frank Miller (1986), would deconstruct the idea of the superhero. In doing so they challenged conventional wisdom that suggested comic books were confined to the realm of childhood. Equally, if not more important, a generation of cartoonists who grew up reading crime and horror comics only to see them purged by the newly established Comics Code, and who reveled in the disregard Mad magazine showed for social institutions, began producing
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and selling comic books that appealed to their own sensibilities when they came of age in the 1960s and 1970s. In their earliest incarnation, what were called “underground comics” zealously confronted social taboos, the most notable being sex and drug use. In subsequent years, however, their creators gradually grew more introspective, and addressed a wider range of subject matter, much of which was autobiographical in nature (Harvey, 1996). Underground comics eventually gave way to alternative comics, which were published by small presses, and which, unlike mainstream comics, were not bound by the strictures of the Comics Code. Equally important, the comic book industry observed a qualitative change in the way comic books were distributed in the years that followed the establishment of the Comics Code, the result of which made it possible for creators to produce and market works that would not otherwise have been permissible under the strict regulations imposed by the code. When underground comics first appeared, it was not unusual for their creators to sell them directly to readers (Harvey, 1996). As their fan base grew, however, underground comics were increasingly sold in businesses that were linked to the counterculture movement, such as record stores and head shops. This had the effect of setting up a retail network that, over time, led mainstream publishers to recognize a direct market for comic books (Harvey, 1996). Although comic books continued to be sold on newsstands, a greater percentage of them were distributed to specialty shops in subsequent years. Freed from the constraints of the Comics Code, creators were able to produce comic books that were intended for an adult audience, and that addressed mature subject matter and storylines (Nyberg, 1998). Perhaps more than any other work before it, Art Spiegelman’s (2003) Maus, which documents the relationship between the author and his father, a concentration camp survivor, and which was initially published serially in RAW magazine, demonstrated the extent to
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which the medium of comics was capable of conveying complex narratives. The story was subsequently collected and published in two book-length volumes, and in 1992 it became the first work written in the medium of comics to earn the Pulitzer Prize. Suddenly, the medium of comics was afforded a sense of cultural prestige previously denied it by social institutions. As Wolk (2007) observes, in the years that followed “books-of-comics became the province of bookstores and libraries—‘respectable’ places—as much as comic shops” (p. 43). The Graphic Novel Cumulatively, the preceding events paved the way for the emergence of the graphic novel, a marketing term that is used to refer to a book-length work written in the medium of comics. Unlike comic books, which are on average thirty-two pages long, and which are published in serial form, graphic novels generally—though not always—present an entire narrative in a single volume. Although Will Eisner is often credited with having coined the term “graphic novel” to market his book A Contract with God, Chute (2008) traces the origins of the phrase to Richard Kyle, whom she argues used it in a newsletter that was distributed to members of the Amateur Press Association in 1964. Today, graphic novels address an array of subject matter and genres, and they are written for a range of audiences, including children and adults. Ironically, it would seem that the pendulum has swung in the opposite direction. Whereas the comic book was considered the domain of children, the publishing industry has largely marketed graphic novels toward an adult audience. According to Hatfield (2006), “This has led, belatedly, to an anguished realization that most comic books are not for children at all, and a concerted effort among comics professionals to reclaim child readers” (p. 377, emphasis in original), a point that I addressed when I outlined the rationale for my study in chapter one.
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According to Chute (2008), the term “graphic novel” is something of a misnomer in that a substantial percentage of the works marketed under that label belong to the genre of non-fiction. She consequently advocates replacing the term with “graphic narrative.” Wolk (2007) conceptualizes graphic novels as falling into three categories: manga (the Japanese equivalent of American comics); mainstream comics, which he suggests are initially published serially, and which are written and drawn by different people; and art comics, which are written and drawn by a single cartoonist, and which are conceived as a selfcontained book. Although Wolk (2007) insists that the descriptor “art graphic novel” is not intended to represent a value judgment, the implication is difficult to avoid. To avoid confusion, and to resist introducing an unwanted dichotomy between art graphic novels and mainstream graphic novels, I employ the more commonly used “graphic novel” in this dissertation. Educator Perceptions of the Graphic Novel Unlike the comic book, which has historically been considered the scourge of the schoolyard, a growing number of educators have celebrated the pedagogical potential of graphic novels (Bitz, 2004; Carter, 2007; Frey & Fisher, 2004; Monnin, 2010; Morrison et al., 2002; Schwarz, 2002, 2006). As explained in chapter one, graphic novels are said to motivate so-called reluctant readers (Crawford, 2004; Dorrell, 1987; Simmons, 2003; Snowball, 2005), and support students who might otherwise struggle with reading and writing (Bitz, 2004; Frey & Fisher, 2004; Morrison et al., 2002). Others regard them as a bridge to more traditional forms of literature (Weiner, 2004), while still others advocate using graphic novels to teach visual literacy (Frey & Fisher, 2008; Gillenwater, 2009; Schwarz, 2006). By all accounts, it would seem that educators have enthusiastically embraced a form of reading material their predecessors dismissed.
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As noted in chapter one, arguments for using graphic novels in the classroom occasionally have the unintended effect of establishing a link between them and struggling students. In doing so they perpetuate—even if unwittingly—a view of graphic novels as an unsophisticated form of reading material, a perception that, as the preceding literature review indicates, was forged when critics debated the aesthetic value of the comic book in the early 1940s. By no means, however, is this the dominant view. A number of literacy educators acknowledge works written in the medium of comics as a complex form of reading material (Allen & Ingulsrud, 2003; Jacobs, 2007). Others advocate using graphic novels with readers of varying ability levels (Carter, 2007), while still others regard them as a valuable form of literature (Versaci, 2001, 2007). Still, the question of how stronger readers, particularly those at the high school level, might experience graphic novels as a form of reading material, or how they might draw on the semiotic resources they employ to construct meaning in their transactions with them, has received little attention from researchers. By asking how six sophomore and junior students who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, and by attempting to understand how they read and talked about them in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group, my intention was to address what I recognized as a gap in the literature on graphic novel reading. Sociocultural Theories of Learning and Literacy My study is premised on an assumption that the way people learn to read and talk about graphic novels—that is, the way they develop what might be called comics literacy—is influenced by their situatedness in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). As a result of participating in such a community, individuals are understood to appropriate its repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading and
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talking about graphic novels. This is accomplished through a process of legitimate peripheral participation (Lave & Wenger, 1991) as novices interact with more experienced readers who in turn support their entrance into the larger community. Such an argument is consistent with Gee’s (1990/1996) observation that: a way of reading a certain type of text is only acquired, when it is acquired in a “fluent” or “native-like” way, by one’s being embedded (apprenticed) as a member of a social practice wherein people not only read texts of this type in this way, but also talk about such texts in certain ways, hold certain attitudes and values about them, and socially interact over them in certain ways. (p. 41, emphasis in original) I do not wish to suggest that there is a “right” way to read graphic novels, nor do I regard membership in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) as a prerequisite to one’s being able to read them. Rather, in keeping with a New Literacy Studies framework, my study is premised on an assumption that different communities of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) will have developed different ways of reading and talking about graphic novels. For this reason I assume that the members of a community of practice will have recourse to a shared set of conventions and interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980)— that is, to what Iser (1978) calls a repertoire—for transacting with graphic novels, the result of which enables them to interpret them in a manner that is potentially deeper, and richer, than might be the case for readers who lack familiarity with the same conventions. Such an assertion is informed by Gee’s (2003) observation that “while you don’t need to be able to enact a particular social practice…to be able to understand texts from or about that social practice, you can potentially give deeper meanings to those texts if you can” (p. 15, emphasis in original). By regarding the six students who expressed an interest in graphic novels, and who agreed to participate in a voluntary after-school reading group, as a prospective community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), my intention was to map the semiotic
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resources they drew on to construct meaning as they read and talked about four graphic novels. In doing so I assumed that the manner in which the members of the reading group interacted with graphic novels was subject to change as readers with varying degrees of experience with graphic novels supported one another’s efforts to read and talk about them in the context of the larger community. This view is consistent with what Vygotsky (1978) calls a zone of proximal development, a subject that is taken up in the section to follow. Zone of Proximal Development Consistent with sociocultural theories of learning, most notably the work of Vygotsky (1978), my case study is premised on an assumption that the development of higher order psychological functions occurs as people participate alongside others in social practices and activities. Likewise, I assume that social practices—including reading and talking about graphic novels—are appropriated as a result of one’s situatedness in a particular sociocultural group. In this sense cognitive development is understood to take place as interpersonal activities—that is, activities that are shared between people—are internalized and transformed into intrapersonal ones, a position that is most famously articulated in Vygotsky’s (1978) general law of cultural development. According to Vygotsky (1978): Every function in the child’s cultural development appears twice; first, on the social level, and later, on the individual level; first, behavior between people (interpsychological), and then inside the child (intrapsychological)… All of the higher functions originate as actual relations between human individuals. (p. 57, emphasis in original) As conceptualized by Vygotsky (1978), children internalize social and cultural practices as they participate in them alongside adults who equip them with the support— intellectual and emotional—they require to complete tasks that, given their complexity, might otherwise elude them.
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Vygotsky (1978) rejects Piaget’s contention that development is “a precondition of learning” (p. 80), and he is critical of efforts that seek to measure cognitive development solely by assessing a child’s ability to complete a task alone. Instead, he insists on the need to assess development on two planes: the first involving a child’s individual performance on a task, and the second his or her performance completing the same task while under the supervision of a more experienced other, be it an adult or a peer. This leads Vygotsky (1978) to posit the existence of what he calls a zone of proximal development, which he construes as “the distance between the actual developmental level as determined by independent problem solving and the level of potential development as determined through problem solving under adult guidance or in collaboration with more capable peers” (p. 86). Following Cole (1985), I assume that a zone of proximal development is accessible “in any context where there are participants who exercise differential responsibility by virtue of different enterprise” (p. 155). In my study, this led me to assume that the manner in which the participants, all of whom had varying degrees of experience with graphic novels, read and talked about them was subject to change as they were given opportunities to interact with one another in the context of the reading group discussions. Specifically, I assumed that those individuals who had more experience reading graphic novels would act as sponsors (Brandt, 2001) for novices, and in doing so support their entry into what I regarded as a community of practice (Wenger, 1998) through a process of legitimate peripheral participation (Lave & Wenger, 1991). Communities of Practice The observation that knowledge is socially situated, and that novices appropriate practices—including reading and talking about graphic novels—as they enter into collaborative relationships with more experienced others, is integral to Lave and Wenger’s
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(1991) theory of situated learning. Rejecting the traditionally received assumption that learning is the result of a process of transmission wherein one person passes bits and pieces of decontextualized information to another, Lave and Wenger (1991) instead locate knowledge in the activities in which people participate. In doing so they attribute learning to “legitimate peripheral participation” (p. 29), a term they use to refer to a process in which novices contribute to a task—albeit to a lesser extent and without assuming responsibility for the entire activity—while under the aegis of the more experienced members of what they call a community of practice. Language socialization research (Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986) indicates that people acquire the knowledge and practices needed to participate in a community of practice as they talk to one another. In my case study, I construed comics literacy as a form of communal activity (Allen & Ingulsrud, 2005; Norton, 2003), and in doing so I assumed that my participants were capable of appropriating new interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for interacting with graphic novels as they were given opportunities to talk about them with other readers in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group. As defined by Wenger (1998), a community of practice constitutes a kind of group that arises over time as people pursue a shared endeavor—for example, reading and talking about graphic novels. Lave and Wenger (1991) do not, however, understand a community of practice to imply a “co-presence, a well-defined, identifiable group, or socially visible boundaries” (p. 98). Rather, they regard it as “an activity system about which participants share understandings concerning what they are doing and what that means in their lives and for their communities” (p. 98). In this sense, it is possible to acknowledge the existence of communities of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) at both a local and a global level. In my study, I assume that readers are capable of expanding their repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading and talking about graphic novels as
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they move from a local to a global level, and as they interact with members of other communities of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). Lave and Wenger (1991) argue that as novices contribute to an activity in different ways, and as they are given opportunities to view it from a variety of perspectives, they are able to develop a deeper understanding of the practice as a whole, thereby leading them to move toward fuller membership in a community of practice. In the process of doing so they are understood to appropriate the group’s worldviews, as well as its repertoire, a term that Wenger (1998) uses to refer to the “routines, words, tools, ways of doing things, stories, gestures, symbols, genres, actions or concepts that the community has produced or adopted in the course of its existence, and which have become part of its practice” (p. 83). Learning is, in this sense, a transformative experience. Indeed, as Lave and Wenger (1991) argue, the process of learning ensures that a person “has been correspondingly transformed into a practitioner, a newcomer becoming an old-timer, whose changing knowledge, skill, and discourse are part of a developing identity—in short, a member of a community of practice” (p. 122). In keeping with the aforementioned sociocultural theories of learning, Rogoff (1995) conceives cognitive development as occurring on three planes: community, interpersonal, and personal (p. 139). These planes are neither hierarchically arranged, nor are they understood to exist independent of one another. Rather, Rogoff (1995) regards them as constituent parts of a single situation, and she identifies the “developmental processes corresponding with these three planes of analysis as apprenticeship, guided participation, and participatory appropriation, in turn” (p. 139). The parallels between these concepts and Lave and Wenger’s (1991) theory of situated learning are not difficult to discern. As used by Rogoff (1995), the metaphor of apprenticeship refers to a culturally organized activity in which
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individuals participate. Guided practice, on the other hand, refers to the interpersonal relationships that people construct as they support one another in joint undertakings. Finally, Rogoff (1995) uses the term participatory appropriation to refer to the ways in which “individuals change through their involvement in one or another activity, in the process becoming prepared for subsequent involvement in related activities” (p. 142). The analytic scheme that Rogoff (1995) provides, coupled with a view of learning as socially situated (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), constitutes a useful framework for thinking about the ways in which talking about graphic novels with other readers in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group might influence the way high school students read, talk about, and conceive of them as a form of reading material. As individuals with varying degrees of experience reading graphic novels share their responses to them in the context of group discussions, and as they interact with one another over an extended period of time, they stand to expand their repertoire (Iser, 1978; Wenger, 1998) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading and talking about graphic novels. In turn, this may influence the way they interact with graphic novels on subsequent occasions. Literacy as a Social Practice The observation that learning occurs as novices participate in activities alongside more experienced others, leading them to move from a position on the periphery toward fuller membership in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), draws attention to the notion that literacy practices (Barton, 1994), including what I am calling comics literacy, are embedded in social contexts. As John-Steiner and Mahn (1996) observe, “reading and writing are not structured solitary acts, rather they develop in collaborative efforts in a community of learners” (p. 204). In the previous section I argued that people are capable of appropriating interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading and talking about
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graphic novels as they interact with other readers in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). That argument is consistent with scholarship by Street (1984) and Heath (1982, 1983), whose insistence on the need for researchers to study literacy in its social contexts is reflective of what is often called New Literacy Studies. Street’s (1984) anthropological work in Iran led him to question the wisdom of embracing an autonomous model of literacy, one that begins with the assumption that literacy “has cognitive effects apart from the context in which it exists and the uses to which it is put in a given culture” (Gee, 1990/1996, p. 57). Instead, he argues for an ideological model of literacy, one that acknowledges its ideological underpinnings, and seeks to comprehend it in the social, political, and economic contexts in which it exists. In designing my study, which was informed by an ideological view of literacy, I recognized a need to observe high school students as they read and talked about graphic novels in a community of readers. Recognizing that gaining access to such a community might prove difficult, I chose to assemble a voluntary after-school reading group that enabled me to observe the participants interacting with one another in an authentic context. Likewise, adopting an ideological view of literacy led me to acknowledge the possibility that different communities of readers will have developed different ways of reading and talking about graphic novels. In a decade long ethnographic study, Heath (1983) examined the role literacy played in the lives of working class whites, working class blacks, and middle-class blacks and whites in a small community in the Piedmont Carolinas. Her work led her to conclude that the manner in which the participants in her study learned to read and talk about texts was influenced by the practices of the sociocultural groups to which they belonged. Elsewhere, Heath (1982) observes that the ways people “take from books”—that is, the ways in which they make sense of them—are learned, rather than natural, behaviors (p. 49). To understand
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how people learn to “take from books,” Heath (1982) encourages researchers to study literacy events, which she defines as “occasions in which written language is integral to the nature of participants’ interactions and their interpretive processes and strategies” (p. 50). In my case study, talking about graphic novels with other readers in the context of a reading group was understood to consitute a literacy event. By examining the manner in which the participants interacted with graphic novels, a form of multimodal text, my intention was to understand how they “took from” (Heath, 1982, p. 49) them. Moreover, I hoped to determine whether the manner in which they did so changed as they were given opportunities to interact with readers who had varying degrees of experience with the form. As will be seen when I analyze my findings in chapter four, by assembling the reading group, and by creating a space that enabled the participants to practice comics literacy, I functioned as a sponsor (Brandt, 2001), a concept that I foreground and develop in the section to follow. Literacy Sponsors In keeping with a sociocultural view of literacy, Brandt (2001) introduces the concept of “sponsors” to draw attention to the role social forces and institutions play in endorsing (or impeding) literacy learning on an individual level. Specifically, she defines sponsors as “agents, local or distant, concrete or abstract, who enable, support, teach, and model, as well as recruit, regulate, suppress, or withhold, literacy—and gain advantage by it in some way” (p. 19). According to this definition, literacy sponsors might be thought to exist at a global level, as well as a local level. In the latter case, family members, friends, teachers, librarians, and so forth all have the potential to act as sponsors. In creating a context that brought six high school students who expressed an interest in graphic novels together for the purpose of reading and talking about them, I functioned as a sponsor in that I supported their ability to practice a particular form of literacy, one that I refer to as comics literacy.
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Blackburn and Clark (2007) observe that the concept of literacy sponsorship constitutes a useful tool for thinking about “what gets counted as literacy, where, when, by whom and under what circumstances, as well as accounting for how this happens, and to what ends” (p. 22). As readers will recall, the history of comics that I sketched earlier in this chapter indicated that schools have neither historically valued works written in the medium of comics, nor endorsed comic book reading as a legitimate form of literacy. Indeed, Romanelli (2009) observes that reading “graphic novels reflects a kind of literacy that is clearly not tested for by standardized literacy exams, not valued by academia” (pp. 286-287). Semiotic Perspectives on Multimodality Readers will recall that a sociocultural view of literacy (Gee, 1990/1996, 2003; Heath, 1982, 1983; Street, 1984) assumes that people learn to interact with texts—graphic novels included—in a manner that reflects the habits of the communities of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) to which they belong. As Gee (2003) observes, different communities “work, through their various social practices, to encourage people to read and think in certain ways, and not others, about certain sorts of texts and things” (p. 2). My study was premised on an assumption that individuals appropriate a repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading and talking about graphic novels as a result of their situatedness in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) that values them as a form of reading material. Amongst other things, that repertoire is understood to include strategies for interacting with grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) that are associated with various semiotic resources. The observation that people draw on their knowledge of grammars to construct meaning in their transactions with multimodal texts—graphic novels included—is integral to the theoretical framework that informed my analysis of the data. In the section to follow, I
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explore the concept of multimodality—which assumes that meaning is communicated through several modes acting in concert with one another—from the perspective of semiotics. To begin, I review the work of Roland Barthes (1977/1983), whose efforts to theorize the semiotic potential of images led him to foreground the cultural knowledge readers draw on as they interact with images. Following this, I examine multimodality from the perspective of social semiotics (Hodge & Kress, 1988; Kress & Van Leeuwen, 1996/2006, 2001; Van Leeuwen, 2005), and in doing so foreground the concept of grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001). The Cultural Situatedness of Signs The most influential definition of semiotics may come from Ferdinand de Saussure (1916/1974), a Swiss linguist who regarded it as “the science of the life of signs in society” (p. 16). Despite the all-encompassing nature of de Saussure’s definition, scholars have historically tended to treat different semiotic resources—that is, sign systems that are available for communicating meaning in a given culture—as if they were discretely bounded entities. Language has consequently been regarded as the domain of linguists, art as the domain of art historians, music as the domain of musical theorists, and so forth. For his part, Barthes (1977/1983) expressed an interest in understanding how different semiotic resources, most notably image and word, came to mean when they interacted with one another in a single text. As such, his ideas are germane to my efforts to understand how a group of high school students drew on the semiotic resources they encountered in graphic novels. As conceptualized by Barthes (1977/1983), a signifier (or material sign) and a signified (the idea or concept to which a signifier points) combine to lend a sign its denotative meaning—that is, the layer of meaning at which viewers are able to recognize the person, object, or thing to which it points. However, his examination of non-linguistic texts,
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most notably images, led him to posit a second layer of meaning, one that he argues functions at the level of connotation. According to Barthes (1977/1983), this second layer of meaning is “parasitic” in that it attaches itself to denotative meanings (p. 25). In the case of photographs, recognition of this point led him to acknowledge the possibility of a message without a code. To account for this paradox, Barthes argues that viewers are able to recognize connotative meanings—that is, the values, associations, and feelings that signs call forth—as a result of the knowledge they bring to bear on a text, knowledge that is, in his opinion, inextricably caught up in the workings of culture. In the case of images, Barthes (1977/1983) argues that connotative meaning is imposed on a text at the level of production, a point in time at which a photographer (or, in the case of my study, an artist) selects from a range of possible “gestures, attitudes, expressions, colours or effects, endowed with certain meanings by virtue of the practice of a certain society” (p. 27). So far as photography is concerned, Barthes (1977/1983) also attributes connotative meaning to the workings of “photogenia”—a term he uses to refer to the technical practices that are available to photographers in a given culture, and that include, amongst other things, framing, speed, distance, lighting, and focus (p. 23). In this sense Barthes assumes that texts are culturally mediated, both at the level of production and, more importantly given my purposes, at the level of interpretation. The distinction that Barthes (1977/1983) draws between denotative and connotative meaning is important to my study in several regards. As Lewis (1996) observes, the speed with which images are grasped can create the impression that they are transparent or natural. This potentially explains why many of the undergraduates I taught at a major university were reluctant to regard interacting with images as a form of reading, a point I addressed when I traced the origins of my study in chapter one. However, Barthes’ (1977/1983) argument
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directs attention to the knowledge that readers draw on to interpret images. Like photographs, images in graphic novels rely on gestures, colors, expressions, and so forth to communicate information. Likewise, they employ a number of artistic conventions that Barthes (1977/1983) associates with connotative meaning, including framing, perspective, and lighting. At the same time, graphic novels make use of what Eisner (1985) refers to as “the ’grammar’ of Sequential Art” (p. 8)—that is, conventions that are specific to the medium of comics. To read a graphic novel, one must possess a sense of familiarity with the “language” according to which it speaks (Eisner, 1985; McCloud, 1993; Varnum & Gibbons, 2001). As explained at the start of this literature review, I assume that readers appropriate their knowledge of that language as they participate in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) that values graphic novels as a form of reading material, and that has developed a particular set of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for interacting with them. Barthes’ (1977/1983) observation that acts of semiosis are culturally mediated is relevant to my study in another regard—specifically, it challenges the assumption that meaning resides objectively in a text where it awaits discovery by those who are trained to look for it. Consistent with Barthes’ (1977/1983) argument, I understand meaning to arise as readers interact with the framework of a graphic novel, and as they draw on cultural knowledge they have acquired as a result of their situatedness in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) to imbue its signs with meaning. This view of reading echoes the work of reader response theorists such as Louise Rosenblatt (1938/1995, 1978) and Wolfgang Iser (1974, 1978), whose respective theories of aesthetic reading are reviewed later in this chapter. Additionally, they are consistent with assumptions on which
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social semiotics—the area of inquiry in which the roots of multimodality are most firmly located—rests. Social Semiotics and Grammars Social semiotics differs from Paris school semiotics, which was influenced by Structuralism, in several regards. First, social semiotics substitutes the phrase “semiotic resources” in place of “signs” and “codes,” a decision that is influenced by the work of Halliday (1978), who argues that “the grammar of a language is not a code, not a set of rules for producing correct sentences, but a ‘resource for making meanings’” (quoted in Van Leeuwen, 2005, p. 3). Social semiotics also acknowledges the host of semiotic resources (including language) that people use to express and represent themselves. These include— but are not limited to—image, gaze, gesture, color, sound, music, and so forth. Finally, social semiotics assumes that meaning is seldom, if ever, communicated through a single channel. Rather, it assumes that meaning is multimodal—that is, it assumes that meaning is the result of several modes acting in concert with one another. As Kress and his colleagues (2005) observe, “the meaning of any event or of any structure does not lie in the meaning of one sign, but has to be seen in the complex meanings of a set of signs all read together” (p. 35). Given my desire to understand how graphic novels, a form of multimodal text, come to mean, and influenced by sociocultural theories of learning (Lave & Wenger, 1991) and literacy (Barton, 1994; Heath, 1982, 1983; Street, 1984), I drew on arguments associated with social semiotics, most notably, its recognition of what are referred to as grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001). Influenced by sociocultural theories of language, most notably the work of the linguist Michael Halliday (1978), social semiotics is premised on an assumption that communication is a social act. As Hodge and Kress (1988) observe, “Meaning is produced
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and reproduced under specific social conditions, through specific material forms and agencies. It exists in relationship to concrete subjects and objects, and is inexplicable except in terms of this set of relationships” (p. viii). Conceptualizing meaning in this way underscores a need for researchers to examine the contexts in which people transact with texts, as well as the purposes toward which their producers (and interpreters) understand themselves to work, as information of this sort is presumed to provide clues as to how a text ought to be read. To understand how a group of high school students who were identified by their English teachers constructed meaning as they read and talked about graphic novels, I opted to assemble a reading group that created opportunities for the participants in my study to share their responses to graphic novels in the context of whole group discussions. Likewise, I collected data using methods that are associated with qualitative research, a result of my desire to understand, as best I could, how the participants made sense of their experiences reading graphic novels. Social semiotics acknowledges that semiotic resources have histories of growth and evolution, and it regards their use as culturally mediated. Researchers endeavor to document the ends toward which different semiotic resources have been put over time, as well as the meanings they have historically been used to realize. To do so, they construct inventories that are understood to represent a resource’s “meaning potential” (Van Leeuwen, 2005, p. 5). In this sense social semiotics assumes that people use—and interpret—semiotic resources in a manner that is consistent with the practices of the communities to which they belong. As Kress and Van Leeuwen (2001) explain: [A color] has meaning potential because of its cultural history. How that potential will be realized in an actual sign is a matter, jointly, of the interests of the maker of the sign, of the potentials of the signifier material, of the cultural history of that colour (e.g., what specific colours have been given what meanings in what contexts in
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a given culture, e.g., ‘pink is for girls’), and of the discourses in which the sign is articulated. (p. 59) Nevertheless, as the preceding excerpt suggests, scholars acknowledge that people use semiotic resources, as opposed to semiotic resources using people. That is, they recognize that people are neither limited to nor restricted by the meanings a particular semiotic resource has historically been used to realize. As a result of their agency, people are able to transform those meanings and recreate new ones. As will be seen, my desire to account for the role culture and personal agency played in influencing the meanings the participants in my study constructed led me to draw on the work of reader response theorists, most notably Fish (1980), Rosenblatt (1938/1995, 1978), and Iser (1974, 1978). The observation that people learn to interact with semiotic resources as a result of participating in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) compliments the sociocultural theories of learning and literacy that I reviewed earlier in this chapter. Far from objective, the meanings that semiotic resources are used to convey are instead subject to negotiation by the members of a social or cultural group, raising the possibility that different communities of practice will interpret the same resource in different ways. In the context of my study, this led me to assume that readers who are situated in different communities of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) stand to encounter new ways of interacting with the semiotic resources that graphic novels employ as they interact with one another in the context of discussions. As people use semiotic resources to communicate meaning, their doing so is understood to give rise to patterns that are recognizable to other members of a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). In social semiotics, these patterns are referred to as “grammars” (Kress et al., 2005). Rather than view ‘grammars’ as prescriptive
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rules that govern the use of semiotic resources, researchers instead regard them as regularities in the way people use semiotic resources over time (Jewitt & Kress, 2003). This view is influenced by Halliday’s (1978) observation that “the grammar of a language is not a code, not a set of rules for producing correct sentences, but a ‘resource for making meanings’” (quoted in Van Leeuwen, 2005, p. 3). Various scholars have examined the grammars—or conventions—that characterize different semiotic resources. Kress and Van Leeuwen (1996/2006), for example, describe the grammar of images; Van Leeuwen (1999) the grammar of sound; and Stockl (2005) the grammar of typography. In conducting this research project, my intention was to describe the manner in which the participants interacted with grammars that they associated with the semiotic resources they encountered in the graphic novels they read. People not only draw on grammars to produce material texts. Rather, as Kress and Van Leeuwen (2001) observe, interpretation constitutes an act of semiosis as well. According to them, whereas articulation results in the production of signs that are externally evident, “interpretation leads to signs which are evident (to the interpreter) internally” (p. 41). Viewed in this light, it is possible to conceptualize graphic novel reading as a form of semiotic activity in which people draw on their knowledge of grammars that are associated with different semiotic resources to construct meanings. Recognition of this point foregrounds a need to think about multimodal literacy from the standpoint of design, an assumption that is integral to the work of the New London Group (1996). Multimodal Literacy as a Process of Design Conceptualizing semiotic activity as a process of design is important to my study in several regards. Graphic novels not only employ a linguistic design, but also a visual design, an audio design, a gestural design, and a spatial design (New London Group, 1996), an
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observation that belies their alleged simplicity as a form of reading material (Jacobs, 2007). When multimodal literacy is regarded as a form of semiotic activity, readers are seen to construct meaning as they navigate the Available Designs that multimodal texts employ. As explained in the preceding section, I assume that in interacting with graphic novels readers draw on their knowledge of grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) for different semiotic resources. By encouraging students to reflect critically on the way they do so, Jacobs (2007) argues that teachers stand to help them “become more literate with a wide range of multimodal texts” (p. 24). The New London Group, Multimodality, and Available Designs A central theme that runs throughout a position paper authored by the New London Group (1996), a group of 10 educators that met in New London, New Hampshire with the intention of understanding how literacy education ought to respond to an “increase in cultural and linguistic diversity,” as well as the “burgeoning variety of text forms associated with information and multimedia technologies” (p. 61), underscores the changes communicative practices in the workplace, as well as in people’s public and private lives, have undergone. Whereas educators historically acted as agents of assimilation—that is, as promoters of cultural homogeneity—the New London Group (1996) argues that a waning credence in the existence of a standard language obliges teachers to embrace the concept of diversity— linguistic as well as cultural (p. 69). Thinking of this sort led the New London Group (1996) to introduce the concept of “multiliteracies” (p. 63), a term that acknowledges the diverse linguistic and cultural practices students bring to the classroom. The term “multiliteracies” acquires a second meaning in the New London Group’s (1996) position paper, however, one that draws attention to the preponderance of multimodal texts that students encounter outside of school. As such it is relevant to my study. In
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addition to the written word, these texts are said to incorporate the use of ”the visual, the audio, the spatial, the behavioral, and so on” (p. 64). To ensure that they are prepared to think critically about multimodal texts, the New London Group encourages literacy educators to help students examine their design at three levels: Available Designs, Design, and the Redesigned (p. 74). As conceptualized by the New London Group (1996), the term “Available Design” refers to the “grammars” and “orders of discourse” that are available to sociocultural groups (p. 74). As used in this dissertation, the term “grammars” is understood to refer to the recurring patterns or regularities that characterize a group’s use of semiotic resources over time, a point that was addressed at length in the preceding section. “Orders of discourse,” on the other hand, refers to “the structured set of conventions associated with semiotic activity (including use of language) in a given social space” (p. 74). As conceived by the New London Group (1996), the ability to produce (or interpret) new texts requires social agents to draw on the “grammatical systems” (p. 75), or grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001; Kress et al., 2005), that are available to them in the communities to which they belong, an argument that is consistent with my assertion that in interacting with the semiotic resources they encounter in graphic novels readers draw on a repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980)—including their knowledge of grammars—they have appropriated as a result of their situatedness in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). Readers might draw on Available Designs, but textual production is not understood to constitute an act of mimesis. Rather, the New London Group (1996) assumes that the act of meaning making—that is, the production or interpretation of texts—is such that the process
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of Design leads Available Designs to undergo a transformation, the result of which gives rise to new meanings: Designing will more or less normatively reproduce, or more or less radically transform, given knowledges, social relations, and identities, depending on the conditions under which Designing occurs. But it will never simply reproduce Available Designs. Designing transforms knowledge in producing new constructions and representations of reality. (pp. 75-76) Given the dialogic relationship between Available Designs and the process of Designing, semiotic activity is understood to inspire new meanings—or what the authors deem The Redesigned (p. 76). The degree of resemblance between The Redesigned and Available Designs is subject to vary; under no conditions, however, will the former mirror the latter. Rather, as the authors suggest, The Redesigned is best understood as a marriage of “culturally received patterns of meaning” and the “unique product of human agency” (p. 76), a view that compliments the theories of aesthetic reading that I review later in this chapter. In my case study, I conceived of multimodal literacy as a process of design. Specifically, I assumed that the participants would interpret the semiotic resources they encountered in a graphic novel by drawing on their knowledge of grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001). In that sense, I assumed that grammars constituted one aspect of the repertoire (Iser, 1978) the participants drew on to interact with multimodal texts. Additionally, my study was premised on an assumption that the participants would negotiate their understanding of grammars as they interacted with one another in the context of the reading group discussions, the result of which would lead them to expand their repertoire of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading graphic novels. Constructing a Metalanguage for Talking About Graphic Novels At the current time research indicates that English language arts teachers may lack recourse to a language that enables them to talk analytically about the range of semiotic
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resources beyond written language that graphic novels employ (Annett, 2008). For students to think (and talk) critically about multimodal texts, the New London Group (1996) suggests that they require recourse to a “metalanguage” (p. 77) that enables them to identify and examine the grammars that organize their structure. The group took as a future objective the goal of developing a metalanguage that teachers and students could use to talk about Design grammars in six areas—“Linguistic Design, Visual Design, Audio Design, Gestural Design, Spatial Design, and Multimodal Design” (p. 78). Elsewhere, Gee (2003) argues that the ability to “attend to, reflect on, critique, and manipulate…design grammars at a metalevel” is an integral component of “critical learning” (p. 40), which he defines as “learning to think of semiotic domains as design spaces that manipulate us…in certain ways and that we can manipulate in certain ways” (p. 43). Arguing for a semiotics-based curriculum, Suhor (1984) encourages teachers to equip students with a language they can use to talk analytically about semiotic resources other than written language. Noting that literary analysis, the analytic language with which most English language arts teachers are familiar, lacks the conceptual categories needed to address visual media, he argues for what he calls “medium-specific analysis”—that is, analysis that makes use of analytic tools and concepts that are appropriate to a given medium (p. 249). When they are granted access to such a language, Suhor (1984) argues, students are able to expand “both their observational powers and their repertoire of analytical categories” (p. 249) for reading and talking about texts. By identifying the semiotic resources on which the participants in my study drew as they read graphic novels, and by attempting to understand how they interacted with them to construct interpretations, my intention was to take a preliminary step toward constructing a metalanguage that teachers and students could draw on to talk critically about graphic novels.
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Reader Response Criticism My case study, which again was concerned with understanding how six high school students read and responded to graphic novels, was influenced by reader response criticism, which acknowledges the active role readers play in constructing meaning, and which assumes that literary texts lend themselves to being interpreted in multiple ways. Consistent with the assertion that people learn to read and talk about graphic novels in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), I drew on the work of Stanley Fish (1980), who argues that readers appropriate strategies for interacting with literary texts as a result of their situatedness in interpretive communities. Additionally, my study was influenced by the work of Louise Rosenblatt (1938/1995, 1978) and Wolfgang Iser (1974, 1978), both of whom reject purely objective or subjective views of meaning. Instead, they argue that meaning arises as readers respond to the structures of a text. Although neither of them uses the term “semiotics,” the theories of aesthetic reading that Rosenblatt (1938/1995, 1978) and Iser (1974, 1978) developed bear a resemblance to a semiotic view of reading in that they regard readers as imbuing the signs they encounter in the framework of a text with meaning. In the section to follow, I provide a general overview of reader response criticism. Having done so, I review the work of the aforementioned theorists in closer detail with the intention of foregrounding its relevance to my study. Overview of Reader Response Criticism According to Marshall (2000), the origins of contemporary reader response criticism are often traced to the work of I. A. Richards (1929) and Louise Rosenblatt (1938/1995), both of who directed attention to the active role readers play in interpreting literary texts. The two writers attached differing degrees of value to that role, however. Having examined the manner in which college students responded to a series of poems he distributed in class,
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Richards (1929) characterized their “being reminded of some personal scene or adventure, erratic associations, the interference of emotional reverberations from a past which may have nothing to do with the poem” (p. 13) as one of “the principal obstacles and causes of failure in the reading and judgment of poetry” (p. 15). In his view these extraneous influences— which he deemed “mnemonic irrelevances”—were something to be guarded against if readers were to unearth the meaning of a text. Rosenblatt (1938/1995), on the other hand, assigned equal importance to the reader and the text, which she deemed “essential to the transaction process of making meaning” (p. 27). As a field of inquiry, reader response criticism remained largely undeveloped until the late 1960s, at which time it emerged in opposition to New Criticism, which dominated critical theory and educational practice in the intervening years (Harker, 1992). The New Critics dismissed the notion that consideration of either the reader or the author warranted a place in conversations that were concerned with determining literary meaning. Indeed, they regarded them as irrelevances that were best avoided. This position was most clearly articulated by Wimsatt and Beardsley (1954), who famously rejected the “intentional fallacy”—that is, the error of attempting to validate a literary interpretation by weighing it against an author’s intentions, which they assumed were irrecoverable (p. 3)—and the “affective fallacy”—which they regarded as the error of accepting an individual reader’s affective response to a work of literature as a valid form of interpretation, thereby confusing “the poem and its results (what it is and what it does)” (p. 21, emphasis in original). For the New Critics, meaning resided objectively in the structures of a text, where it awaited discovery by those who were trained to look for it. Accounting for the interest reader response criticism drew in the late 1960s, Harker (1992) speculates that the prescriptiveness
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and rigidity of New Criticism may have proved unpalatable at a time when “relativism, introspection, and a predominant concern with the individual prevailed” (p. 28). According to Tompkins (1980), “Reader-response criticism is not a conceptually unified critical position” (p. ix). Indeed, her survey of several prominent response theorists reveals profound differences in their work. If reader response theorists share a common interest, it is their concern with understanding the role that readers play in actively constructing meaning in their interactions with literary texts. Probst (2004) attributes disparities in the work of different response theorists to the varying degrees of emphasis they place on three elements: “the reader, the text, and the relationship between the text and the world” (p. 6). Similarly, Marshall (2000) conceptualizes response theorists as falling into three groups: those who regard meaning as the result of a reader’s individual history and psychological identity (e.g., Bleich, 1975, 1978; Holland, 1968/1989); those who attribute meaning to the sociocultural context in which readers are situated (e.g., Fish, 1980); and those who locate meaning in a common set of conventions that are shared by authors and readers (e.g., Rosenblatt, 1938/1995, 1978; Iser, 1974, 1978). In this study I draw on the work of response theorists in the latter two categories, most notably Fish (1980), Rosenblatt (1938/1995, 1978), and Iser (1974, 1978). Their work, and its relevance to my study, is explored in the sections to follow. Stanley Fish: Interpretive Communities Fish (1980) argues that readers appropriate interpretive strategies for interacting with literary texts as they participate in interpretive communities (p. 14), a construct that bears a resemblance to Lave and Wenger’s (1991) notion of communities of practice, and that has a correlate in the work of scholars who regard literacy as socially situated (Gee, 1990/1996, 2003; Heath, 1982, 1983; Street, 1984). According to Fish (1980), interpretive strategies,
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rather than any objective properties of a text, determine how readers will interpret it. He rejects efforts to label a particular class of objects “literature” or “art” on the basis of essentialist properties. In the case of literature, he argues, such thinking results in the creation of a binary between literary language and ordinary language, an artificial distinction that he is unwilling to recognize (p. 101). Challenging its validity, he argues that there is only language—whether readers regard it as literary or not is, in his opinion, a result of the attitude they adopt toward it (p. 109). For Fish (1980), readers create—or, more precisely, compose— a work of literature when they acknowledge a text as literary. In that sense he assumes that literature is the result of “an attitude—always within our power to assume—toward properties that belong by constitutive right to language” (p. 109). Definitions of literature are not, however, entirely subjective. Rather, Fish (1980) assumes that readers inherit their definitions of literature from the interpretive communities to which they belong. Given his contention that literature—as a class of objects—is socially constructed, and acknowledging that a “way of reading or paying attention is not eternally fixed but will vary with cultures and times,” (p. 97), Fish (1980) argues that what a particular group of readers recognizes as literature is subject to vary over time, an assertion that is not without consequences for the study of aesthetics. “All aesthetics,” he writes, ”are local and conventional rather than universal, reflecting a collective decision that will be in force only so long as a community of readers or believers (it is very much an act of faith) continues to abide by it” (p. 109). The latter view, which construes definitions of literature as the property of interpretive communities (Fish, 1980), challenges a binary that has traditionally been drawn between high- and low-art, and calls into question arguments that regard works written in the medium of comics as a substandard form of literature (Wertham, 1954). Recognizing this, I assumed that the manner
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in which the participants in my study conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material was likely to be influenced by the interpretive communities to which they belonged. Consistent with the work of scholars who construe literacy as socially situated (Gee, 1990/1996, 2003; Heath, 1982, 1983; Street, 1984), Fish (1980) regards reading as a learned, rather than a natural, behavior. That is, he assumes that readers appropriate strategies for interacting with literary texts as they participate in interpretive communities. Furthermore, he credits interpretive communities with having developed different sets of interpretive strategies for interacting with texts. This allows Fish (1980) to account for the ability of readers to agree on the meaning of a single text (he assumes that they belong to the same interpretive community, and hence employ similar interpretive strategies), as well their ability to interpret a single text in multiple ways (he assumes that they belong to more than one interpretive community, and have access to different sets of interpretive strategies) (p. 171). Such a view is consistent with my assertion that readers are able to expand their repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading and talking about graphic novels as they interact with members of other communities of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). Radway (1984) observes that Fish (1980) defines the concept of interpretive community in narrow terms. Specifically, she suggests that he construes an interpretive community as “a loosely connected group of literary scholars who share basic assumptions about the nature of literature, about the goals of literary criticism, and about the nature of the interpretive process” (p. 54). Her own efforts to study the reading practices of romance readers led Radway (1984) to extend the term and apply it to communities of readers that are situated outside of the academy, and grow up around different forms of texts, including those
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that fall within the realm of popular culture. Viewed in this light, it is possible to argue that interpretive communities form around graphic novels. The implications of the latter observation are important so far as my study is concerned. As readers participate in an interpretive community (Fish, 1980) that reads and values graphic novels, they might be thought to appropriate the repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) the group has devised for interacting with them. As they encounter members of other interpretive communities (Fish, 1980), the potential exists for them to appropriate new ways of reading and talking about graphic novels, leading them to expand their repertoire (Iser, 1978) for doing so. Recognition of this point underscores a need to acknowledge the myriad ways of reading and talking about graphic novels that are potentially available to readers as they move from a local to a global level. Louise Rosenblatt: Aesthetic Reading As the literature review that I have constructed up to this point indicates, I acknowledge that the social or cultural groups to which readers belong influence the meanings they construct in their transactions with graphic novels. I do not, however, believe that readers are mere automatons. Rather, following the New London Group (1996), I attribute the meanings they construct as they transform Available Designs to a marriage between “culturally received patterns of meaning” and “human agency” (p. 76). To this point I have devoted attention to the role communities of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) play in influencing the manner in which readers interact with the multimodal design of graphic novels. By examining Louise Rosenblatt’s (1938/1995, 1978) theory of aesthetic reading, which regards readers as drawing on their personal histories to imbue the signs they encounter in a literary text with meaning, my intention is to foreground the role individual readers play in shaping the meanings they construct in their transactions with graphic novels.
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Siegesmund (1999) observes that the word “aesthetics” is derived from the Greek aisthanesthai, which he suggests “translates as the ability to perceive” (p. 43). He explains that early aestheticians interpreted the latter verb “as reflecting a dynamic state between subject and object with each affecting (not simply affecting) the other” (pp. 43-44). Recognition of this point leads him to argue that from its beginnings, “aesthetic knowing can be seen as about perceiving in a relationship between subject and object” (p. 44). According to Siegesmund (1999), when Dewey wrote Art as Experience, he “sought to return the conception of aesthetic knowing to the problem of perception as a recognition of both rational and feelingful relationships between subject and object” (p. 44). Indeed, Dewey (1934/2005) regarded the absence of a division between self and object as a hallmark of aesthetic experience, which he assumed was aesthetic only to the extent that an “organism and environment cooperate to institute an experience in which the two are so fully integrated that each disappears” (p. 259). A similar view of aesthetic knowing is evident in Rosenblatt’s theory of aesthetic reading, which was informed by Dewey’s work, and which, as was indicated at the start of this section, construes meaning as the result of a transaction between a reader and a text. Rosenblatt (1978) conceptualizes reading as falling on a continuum that ranges between two poles: efferent and aesthetic. She regards efferent reading as occurring when people read with the intention of putting the information they encounter in a text toward other ends (p. 24). Doing so requires them to ignore the private (or personal) meanings language calls to mind. Instead, they direct their attention “toward concepts to be retained, ideas to be tested, actions to be performed after the reading” (p. 24). Aesthetic reading, on the other hand, compels readers to acknowledge the private meanings words call forth, as well as the
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feelings and memories they engender, the result of which leads them to focus on the experiences they undergo in their transactions with a literary text (p. 24). The distinction that Rosenblatt (1978) draws between efferent and aesthetic reading is significant to my study in that it allows me to account for the “symbolizing processes” (p. 97) in which readers engage as they transact with graphic novels. Having adopted an aesthetic stance toward a text, Rosenblatt (1978) argues that readers are likely to find certain words’ “emotional overtones…all too powerful,” the result of which will lead them to place their “responses into contexts not at all directly indicated by the text” (p. 97). Readers create these contexts, she explains, as they draw on their personal histories, and as they situate their responses in the interpretive frameworks they construct as they read. For this reason readers are able to interpret the same text in different ways. Yet because Rosenblatt (1978) conceptualizes a literary text as a structure that guides a reader’s response, she insists that meaning is not purely subjective. Rather, she regards authors as having “set down notations for others, to guide them in the production of a work of art” (p. 13). In this sense Rosenblatt’s (1938/1995, 1978) theory of aesthetic reading compliments the semiotic perspectives on multimodality that I reviewed earlier in this chapter. Rosenblatt (1938/1995) does not restrict her theory of efferent-aesthetic reading to transactions with literary texts as they are traditionally conceived. Rather, she assumes that it “describes the two main ways we look at the world” (p. xvii). Indeed, she argues that her view of reading as a transaction applies to all media, an observation that is of particular importance to my study. Given its applicability to other media, I drew on Rosenblatt’s (1938/1995, 1978) theory of aesthetic reading to understand how readers construct meaning in their transactions with graphic novels, which employ a range of semiotic resources beyond written language. Doing so allowed me to account for the ability of the participants to
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interpret images on multiple levels, and often in seemingly idiosyncratic ways. Whereas efferent reading would account for the ability of readers to comprehend the people, objects, actions and so forth that are depicted in an image, aesthetic reading, wherein readers might be thought to focus on the personal feelings and associations that images call forth, allowed me to explain how the participants were able to construct meanings that extended beyond the referents to which images in a narrative immediately pointed. It should be noted that Rosenblatt’s (1938/1995, 1978) theory of aesthetic reading allowed me to understand how the participants constructed meaning in their transactions with the verbal design of graphic novels as well. Wolfgang Iser: The Repertoire of the Text Wolfgang Iser’s (1974, 1978) theory of aesthetic reading, which is premised on an assumption that meaning arises out of an interaction between a reader and a text, was also relevant to my study. Specifically, I drew on Iser’s (1978) view of literary reading as a process in which readers synthesize the various perspectives they occupy in the framework of a text, an undertaking that leads them to fill gaps and introduce information not otherwise found in a narrative. Equally important to my work is what Iser (1978) refers to as the repertoire of a text, which he suggests contains references to social norms, literary conventions, and so forth. Iser (1978) regards readers as possessing a repertoire as well, one that will more or less approximate that of the text. In my study, I use the term “repertoire” to refer to a collection of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) that readers draw on in their transactions with graphic novels. Moreover, I assume that readers appropriate their repertoire of strategies for reading and talking about graphic novels as a result of their situatedness in what Lave and Wenger (1991) call a community of practice.
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For Iser (1978), readers actively construct meaning as they piece together the perspectives they are invited to occupy in the framework of a text. Influenced by Ingarden (1973), who assumes that literary texts are characterized by “points of indeterminacy,” Iser (1978) argues that the perspectives readers occupy are fractured by “blanks” or gaps (p. 182). As readers fill in these blanks they construct meaning. Insisting that meaning is neither entirely objective nor entirely subjective, Iser (1978) suggests that a literary text is best viewed as “a structured indicator to guide the imagination of the reader” (p. 9), an assertion that is reminiscent of Rosenblatt’s (1978) view of a literary text as a “blueprint, a guide for the selecting, rejecting, and ordering of what is being called forth” (p. 11). In the case of graphic novels, it is possible to argue that readers fill gaps in a narrative in much the same way as they would if they were to read a traditional novel. However, I assume that reading graphic novels (as well as other forms of multimodal texts) requires readers to synthesize the semiotic resources they employ as well. In that sense I assume that readers fill gaps found in different semiotic resources, as well as between them, the result of which leads them to introduce information not otherwise stated in a narrative, and construct meanings that surpass those any single resource alone might convey. To refer to this process I use the term “polysystemy,” which Lewis (1996) defines as the “piecing together of text out of different kinds of signifying systems” (p. 108). Equally important to my study is what Iser (1978) refers to as a “repertoire”—that is, a collection of social norms, values, and conventions that exist in the world outside a text. For Iser (1978), the repertoire consists of “all the familiar territory within the text,” including “references to earlier works, or to social and historical norms, or to the whole culture from which the text has emerged” (p. 69). Moreover, he assumes that the repertoire consists of “elements and, indeed, whole traditions of past literature that are mixed together with these
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norms” (p. 79). He credits the repertoire with performing a dual function in the transaction between a reader and a text: “it reshapes familiar schemata to form a background for the process of communication, and it provides a general framework within which the message or meaning of the text can be organized” (p. 81). Iser (1978) assumes that readers possess a repertoire as well. Indeed, he argues that points of overlap must exist between the “repertoires of the text as sender and the reader as recipient” (p. 83). As explained at the start of this chapter, I assume that readers appropriate their repertoire (Iser, 1978) for interacting with graphic novels in part as a result of their situatedness in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). Moreover, I assume that the reader’s repertoire will include strategies for interacting with grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001), as well as knowledge that he or she has gained as a result of his or her own unique personal history. Theoretical Framework The aforementioned scholarship provided a foundation for the theoretical framework (see Figure 2.1) that informed my analysis of the data and allowed me to understand how the participants in my study read, talked about, and conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material. Readers will recall that Wenger (1998) defines a community of practice as an informal group that arises over time as people pursue a shared endeavor. Novices are understood to appropriate the practices of the community as they interact with the more experienced members of the group. Fish (1980) argues that readers acquire their conceptions of what “counts” as literature, as well as the interpretive strategies they use to read literary texts, from the interpretive communities to which they belong—a construct that bears a resemblance to what Lave and Wenger (1991) call a community of practice. Rather than reserve the term “interpretive community” for members of the academy, Radway (1984) uses
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it to refer to groups of readers that grow up around a range of genres and texts, including those that fall within the realm of popular culture, such as graphic novels.
Figure 2.1 – Representation of Theoretical Framework As indicated by the circle situated at the top-center of Figure 2.1, I use the term “communities of comics readers” to refer to a particular kind of community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), one that values graphic novels as form of reading material, and affords its members access to a repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for interacting with them. In this sense I assume that individuals who participate in a community of comics readers have access to what Soter (1999) calls “insider knowledge” (p. 87). Although it is not necessary to belong to a community of comics readers to read graphic novels, I assume that individuals who are familiar with the strategies a particular group has cultivated for interacting with them are capable of reading and talking
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about graphic novels in a manner that is potentially richer, and deeper, than might be the case for individuals who are situated outside the group (Gee, 2003). Although I use the term community of comics readers, I do not regard it as a monolith. Rather, consistent with scholarship that regards literacy as socially situated (Gee, 1990/1996, 2003; Heath, 1982, 1983; Street, 1984), I argue that one might more profitably acknowledge the existence of communities of comics readers, each of which has potentially developed its own repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for interacting with graphic novels. In Figure 2.1, this is indicated by the series of smaller circles that extend along the horizontal axis, each of which is understood to represent a community of comics readers. Novices are understood to enter a community of comics readers through the support of a sponsor (Brandt, 2001). On one level, a sponsor might introduce a novice to graphic novels, thus initiating his or her comics literacy. On the other hand, a sponsor might create a context that enables novices to talk about the graphic novels they read with a more experienced reader, thereby allowing them to practice and maintain comics literacy. The arrow that stretches across the horizontal axis in Figure 2.1 indicates that communities of comics readers exist at both a local and a global level. At a local level, a person might participate in a community of comics readers comprised of family members or friends. At another remove, he or she might participate in a graphic novel reading group that meets after school and is sponsored (Brandt, 2001) by a teacher (or, in the case of my study, a researcher). At a more global level, one might interact with readers at comics conventions, or read fanzines and blogs devoted to the subject of graphic novels. In this sense the borders of a community of comics readers are porous, a point that I indicate in Figure 2.1 by placing dotted lines around the circles that represent different communities. Readers in one community of comics readers are consequently able to interact with readers from other
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communities. In doing so, they are capable of appropriating new interpretive strategies for reading and talking about graphic novels. Fish (1981) is critical of Iser’s (1981) theory of aesthetic reading, not least because it acknowledges a “distinction between the determinate and the indeterminate” (p. 6), one that Fish (1981) himself rejects. While I accept Fish’s (1980) argument that readers appropriate the interpretive strategies they bring to bear on literary texts as a result of their situatedness in interpretive communities, I do not accept his assertion that readers “write” texts (p. 171). Rather, following Iser (1978), I recognize the objective existence of texts—in this case, graphic novels—which I assume include a repertoire of literary and artistic conventions, as well as references and allusions to the world beyond the text. As indicated by the circle in the lower left-hand corner of Figure 2.1, I also understand the repertoire of a graphic novel to include Available Designs (New London Group, 1996) and grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) for different semiotic resources. As the circle in the lower right corner of Figure 2.1 suggests, readers bring a repertoire to their transaction with a graphic novel as well, one that will more or less approximate the repertoire of the text. Thus, as seen in Figure 2.1, the two circles are placed side by side, though they could conceivably overlap or be situated at a further remove from one another. As the preceding literature review indicates, I assume that the reader’s repertoire will include interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) she has appropriated for interacting with Available Designs (New London Group, 1996) and grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) as a result of her situatedness in a community of comics readers. However, while I acknowledge that people learn to read in social and cultural groups, I do not regard them as mere automatons. Rather, influenced by Rosenblatt’s (1938/1995, 1978) theory of aesthetic reading, I assume that a reader’s repertoire will include knowledge that she has acquired as a result of her unique history, the result of which will
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shape the meanings she constructs as she interacts with a graphic novel’s visual design, linguistic design, spatial design, and so forth (New London Group, 1996). Following Ingarden (1973), who construes a literary text as a “schematic formation” (p. 13) that readers concretize as they fill in points of indeterminacy, Iser (1978) argues that a work of literature is characterized by blanks or gaps. As they synthesize the various perspectives they occupy in a text, readers fill those gaps and produce what is for them the work of literature. Within the purview of the theoretical framework that I am constructing, I assume that readers engage in a similar practice as they read graphic novels, an assumption that is informed by Carrier’s (2000) observation “that all experiences of art—whether reading literature or seeing pictures—involves synthesizing separate elements” (p. 72). Earthman (1992) identifies “gaps surrounding several elements of literary texts that, when filled, would play a critical role in our understanding of them: plot, character, and symbolic or metaphoric language” (p. 357). In the case of graphic novels, I argue that gaps exist within individual semiotic resources (e.g., word or image), as well as between two or more semiotic resources (e.g., word and image). Thus, as Heath and Bhagat (1997) observe, “Interpretation of both the words and pictures of comic books depends on gaps and fill-in, on absences and presences” (p. 589). In bridging the gaps that exist between word and image, I assume that readers construct meanings that extend beyond those either resource alone could convey. Scholarship on After-School Literacy Programs A number of researchers have expressed an interest in understanding the role context plays in shaping talk about literary texts (Marshall et al., 1995). Although it is possible to construe context as the physical environment that surrounds a given situation, I adopt a broader definition of the term, and understand it to include the participants’ knowledge of the
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rules that govern and structure a discussion. Mercer (2000) uses the term “conversational ground rules” to refer to the “the conventions which language users employ to carry on particular kinds of conversations” (p. 28). In this section, I review scholarship that has asked how readers, adolescents and adults alike, talk about literature in out-of-school contexts. In doing so my intention is to foreground the ways in which one might plausibly expect high school students to talk about graphic novels in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group. To provide a foundation for the discussion, as well as a point of comparison, I begin by offering a brief overview of research on classroom discourse. In regard to research on classroom discourse, much attention has been given the influence that the organization of talk has on the way readers construct meaning. According to Cazden (1988), the IRE sequence—teacher initiation, student response, and teacher evaluation—constitutes “the most common pattern of classroom discourse at all grade levels” (p. 29). However, Eeds and Wells (1989) found that when pre-service teachers made a concerted effort to function as fellow conversants, rather than textual explicators, elementary students who were invited to talk about literature in small groups were capable of “sharing personal stories inspired by the reading or discussion” (p. 27). Additionally, the authors observed that the students were more willing “to risk sharing their individual interpretations” (p. 18), while the groups themselves “became collaborative rather than competitive” (p. 26). Marshall et al. (1995) identified a correlation between the moves teachers make in the context of discussion and the way students talk about and respond to literary texts as well. Specifically, the researchers found that the way students talked about literature in small groups was influenced by the kinds of talk their teachers modeled, and by the extent to which they were given opportunities to participate actively in whole-class discussions. Recognition of this point led the authors to argue that “students must participate in the generation of
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concepts in order to adopt the language that explores and conveys them in particular formal settings” (p. 97). Such an assertion is consistent with a sociocultural view of learning (Vygotsky, 1978), as well as with the theoretical framework that informed my study. In a large-scale study of classroom discourse, Nystrand, Gamoran, Kachur, and Prendergast (1997) found that when teachers asked authentic questions, made use of uptake, and employed high-level evaluations that built on and extended responses pupils shared, students were more substantively engaged. The researchers also cited a positive correlation between these practices and student achievement. Foregrounding the important role teachers play in shaping the context (which, again, I understand to include what Mercer (2000) calls “conversational ground rules”) in which discussions occur, Nystrand et al. (1997) wrote, “The roles we establish as teachers and the interactions we undertake with our students, through our questions, responses, and assignments, inexorably set out the possibilities for meaning in our classes and, in this way, the context of learning” (p. 9). Addington (2001) compared the way graduate students in an English seminar and graduate students who took part in book club discussions in an English education course talked about literature. She characterized the discussions that occurred in the latter setting as having been “distinguished less by questioning per se and more by a pattern of tentative talk, of words that imply questioning or wondering without posing an actual question” (p. 231). She concluded that students who participated in the book club discussions were more likely to share personal stories than were their counterparts in the English seminar. Addington (2001) also observed that students who took part in the book clubs worked collaboratively to co-construct ideas, whereas the students in the English seminar were more likely to defer to the instructor, and seldom talked over one another.
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In recent years the question of how readers talk about literature in out-of-school settings (or literacy clubs) has begun to receive attention. Marshall et al. (1995) found that adults who participated in book club discussions were more likely to share their personal experiences, offer tentative interpretations, and disagree with one another than were students in a classroom. Additionally, they found that the book club discussions were characterized by types of turns they seldom observed in classroom discussions about literature. This included “cooperative turns,” wherein the participants, like the graduate students in Addington’s (2001) study, worked collaboratively to construct a single point. Marshall et al. (1995) also found that their participants cited the “equality of the club members as a crucial feature of the club’s success” (p. 115). In spite of the differences they observed, the authors argued that there were ways in which the book club discussions resembled classroom discussions about literature. Specifically, they found that the members of the book clubs, like teachers, were concerned with “fostering a free exchange of ideas and staying sufficiently on track so that the discussions [went] somewhere of value” (p. 104). Alvermann, Young, Green, and Wisenbaker (1999) found that some of the adolescents who participated in after-school “Read and Talk Clubs” at a public library were adamant that their conversations not take on characteristics they associated with school discussions about literature. Instead, they and the adults with whom they interacted in the reading clubs negotiated the materials they read, as well as the ground rules they established for talking about them. Elsewhere, Young (1998) argues that the reading club discussions assumed patterns that were similar to those Eeds and Wells (1989) observed in their study of grand conversations, and those Marshall et al. (1995) identified in their study of adult book clubs.
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Nevertheless, Alvermann et al. (1999) found that certain school-sanctioned practices, such as waiting for an adult to call on a speaker, were so deeply entrenched in two of the reading clubs “that it became virtually impossible at times to distinguish discussions in those two groups from school-based discussions” (p. 255). Still, the researchers characterized the reading clubs as having provided a safe space in which adolescents and adults were “free to experiment with alternative ways of doing discussion” (p. 255). Moreover, they observed that adolescents were motivated to participate in the reading clubs because they gave them an opportunity to interact with like-minded individuals who shared their affinity for reading and for books. Vyas and Mishra (2002) identified several challenges involved in designing afterschool literacy programs. Specifically, they observed that while such programs take place “‘outside’ of the school in one sense, [they] still carry with them a lot of the ‘baggage’ associated with school, such as student preoccupation with academic work and appropriate ways of conducting oneself within the school setting” (p. 80). Having examined the experiences of Asian students who participated in an after-school literature club, the authors found that the participants initially conducted themselves as if they were in school. Specifically, they raised their hands to participate in the discussions, and they “appeared hesitant to express their opinions” (p. 80). However, as the authors altered the design of the literature club to more closely resemble their avowed goals, and as they responded to the expressed needs of their participants, they found that the students gradually began to move away from “traditional notions of school” (p. 81). Having organized and facilitated a voluntary book club for a group of adolescents who were incarcerated in a detention center, Hill and Van Horn (1995), like Vyas and Mishra (2002), observed that the students were initially reluctant to take risks and state their opinions
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during the discussions. With encouragement and support, however, they found that the participants gradually began to “generate their own topics and ideas, even to relate Book Club readings to outside readings” (p. 186). Echoing an observation shared by Alvermann et al. (1999), Chandler (1997), who facilitated a Beach Book Club during summer vacations, reported that the book club discussions enabled students to interact socially with others who shared their affinity for reading. Moreover, she found that the discussions created a safe-space in which students were able to share their responses freely. She contrasted this with the environment of the classroom, which she assumed was not “so safe and supportive” (p. 112). Discussing the implications of her study Chandler (1997) observed, “To take risks, to share their true feelings and ideas, adolescents need to feel a sense of both ownership and belonging—and that’s true whether they’re in a club or a classroom” (p. 114). Alvermann, Hagood, Heron, Young, and Ricks (2002) reviewed a series of studies in which they examined adolescents’ literacy practices in out-of-school settings. In doing so their intention was to ask what educators might reasonably expect of after-school literacy programs. Amongst other things, they argued that creating “opportunities and a forum for youths to engage with texts uncommonly used in schools, such as horror books, rap music, and video games, gave rise to discussions and ideas that adolescents pursued in-depth and over time” (p. 38). Additionally, they credited the relaxed atmosphere of the after-school programs they studied with having created spaces that enabled adolescents “to explore topics that are not usually covered in school” (p. 38). This observation echoes a finding reported by Marshall et al. (1995), who found that the discussions that transpired in the adult book clubs they studied were characterized by “an ethical dimension often lacking in classroom discussions” (p. 113).
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Collectively, the aforementioned scholarship supports Alvermann and her colleagues’ (2002) observation that one might reasonably expect after-school literacy programs to “look different from school literacy programs” (p. 37). As opposed to classrooms, where attendance is compulsory, the extent research suggests that adolescents are motivated to participate in after-school literacy programs in part because they construe them as creating a context that allows them to interact with likeminded individuals who share their interest in reading and their affinity for books. Likewise, it would seem that adolescents construe afterschool literacy programs as safe spaces, the result of which may lead them to take risks and share their responses to literary texts in ways that are qualitatively different from the responses they share in the context of classroom discussions. Indeed, there is reason to believe that students may construe the classroom environment as threatening. These differences notwithstanding, the scholarship that I reviewed in this section suggests that one might expect discussions that take place in after-school literacy programs to resemble classroom discussions about literature in certain ways. As seen, adolescents who participate in after-school literacy programs may perpetuate discourse practices that are characteristic of the speech genre of classroom talk. They might, for example, raise their hands to participate, or wait for a teacher-like figure to call on them to speak. This is a particular challenge in programs that meet in what Nichols (2008) refers to as “of-schoolspaces”—that is, spaces that are situated physically in a school setting, but arise after school hours. Finally, the aforementioned scholarship suggests that whether or not discussions about literature in after-school literacy programs resemble the speech genre of classroom discourse depends largely on the context adults and adolescents collaboratively construct. That is, while they may perpetuate certain practices that are characteristic of classroom
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discourse, adolescents and adults are capable of reinscribing others, and of negotiating the manner in which texts are taken up. Select Perspectives on How Comics Mean In the section to follow I review the work of a select group of scholars who have asked how comics mean. According to Hatfield (2006), “the comics studies field is rapidly growing and thus difficult to map” (p. 373). Given the scope of the literature available on comics, my review is selective, rather than comprehensive. Because the theoretical framework that informed my analysis of the data drew on the work of reader response theorists, the perspectives that I have chosen to foreground share a concern with the active role that readers play in constructing meaning in their transactions with comics. As will be seen, the scholarship that I review is conceptual, a result of my desire to understand how other scholars have approached comics reading from a theoretical standpoint. Later in this chapter I review research that has asked how readers—adolescents in particular—respond to works written in the medium of comics. Eisner: Comics as a Complex Form of Reading As the brief history of comics that I sketched earlier in this chapter indicated, educators have historically construed works written in the medium of comics as an inferior form of reading material (Hajdu, 2008; Nyberg, 1998; Wright, 2001). In the first chapter of this dissertation I argued that while literacy educators have embraced graphic novels as a pedagogical tool, and argued for their legitimacy as a form of reading material (Carter, 2007; Versaci, 2001, 2007), arguments for using them in the classroom occasionally focus on their ability to support reluctant readers or struggling students (Crawford, 2004; Frey & Fisher, 2004; Snowball, 2005). Given that my study asked how a group of proficient readers
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responded to graphic novels, the work of Eisner (1985), who was among the first to construe comics as a complex form of reading, is pertinent. His ingenuity and accomplishments as a cartoonist notwithstanding, Eisner’s (1985) most significant contribution to the field of comics studies may have been his efforts to theorize comics as a complex and sophisticated form of literature that warrants serious consideration. Challenging the link between literacy and written language, Eisner (1985) argued that the definition of “reading” ought to be expanded to account for the processes wherein readers make sense of images. In doing so he characterized comics reading as “an act of both aesthetic perception and intellectual pursuit” (p. 8). To make sense of the manner in which comics are read and understood, Eisner (1985) took as his starting point the collaborative relationship between cartoonists and readers. Recognizing that readers might struggle to interpret an image in a manner that is consistent with its creator’s intentions, he insisted on the need for cartoonists to construct a shared foundation of experience on which to communicate with readers, a position that reflects his belief that one’s ability to comprehend images is contingent on “a commonality of experience” (p. 13). Eisner (1985) also acknowledged the active role readers play as they read comics. To lend a narrative sequence the illusion of continuity, he argued, it is necessary for readers to fill gaps that exist between panels and fracture a narrative sequence (p. 38). To enhance their ability to do so, he cited a need for cartoonists to present visual sequences that readers are able to recognize. Eisner’s (1985) argument, which construes the reader as filling gaps in a narrative, bears a resemblance to Iser’s (1978) theory of aesthetic reading. Furthermore, Eisner’s (1985) assertion that authors and readers communicate via commonly shared experiences is suggestive of Iser’s (1978) observation that communication
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occurs in aesthetic reading when points of overlap exist between the repertoire of a text and the repertoire of a reader. McCloud: Comics and Closure Like Eisner (1985), McCloud (1993) assumes that readers construct meaning as they fill gaps in a narrative, the result of which makes his efforts to theorize comics reading relevant to my study. Directing attention to the active role that readers play in their transactions with comics, McCloud (1993) introduces his theory of closure, which suggests that readers lend comics the illusion of time and movement. Although he does not acknowledge the point, McCloud (1993) appears to have appropriated the concept of closure from the field of Gestalt psychology, which construes the mind as a powerful pattern recognizer that, when confronted with pieces of perceptual data, attempts to perceive the information as a whole. It is not difficult to understand why the concept of closure would appeal to scholars interested in understanding how readers construct meaning in their transactions with comics—in comics, readers are continuously confronted with a need to supply missing information needed to bridge the narrative schisms that are created by what McCloud (1993) refers to as the gutter—that is, the empty space between panels. As conceived by McCloud (1993), closure demands the active participation of readers. Indeed, he regards readers as “conscious collaborator[s]” in the creative process (p. 66). Foregrounding the imaginative work that readers perform in the gutter allows McCloud (1993) to challenge the traditionally received assumption that reading comics is a passive undertaking. Characterizing closure as something that is unique to the comics form, he argues that it constitutes “a kind of magic only comics can create” (p. 92).
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Although McCloud’s (1993) work offered comics scholars a much-needed foundation for theorizing comics, his arguments have been the subject of criticism. In a special issue of the Comics Journal published in 1999, a series of scholars criticized his ideas, chief amongst them his theory of closure. Beaty (1999), for example, observed that in the context of McCloud’s (1993) argument, closure “becomes something that defines comics insofar as it is seen to exist solely in comics” (p. 68). However, he and several other writers persuasively argued that a similar phenomenon occurs when viewers interact with film. Elsewhere, Christiansen and Magnussen (2000) observe that while scholars before McCloud addressed many of the ideas he takes up, he does “not refer to the existing academic insight into the different elements he analyses” (p. 14). Continuing, they suggest that his work is “composed without reference to any specific perceptual and semiotic theories, but is built on a general view of meaning production” (p. 14). Despite these limitations, McCloud’s (1993) arguments remain significant in that they inspired a host of scholars to ask how readers construct meaning in their transactions with works written in the medium of comics. His recognition of the active role readers occupy as they transact with comics is of particular relevance to my research project, as is his assertion that readers fill gaps. However, while gaps might exist between panels in a graphic novel, I assume that they exist between the different semiotic resources a text employs as well. In synthesizing the meanings that word and image convey, for example, I assume that readers close a gap between the two. Doing so leads them to construct a meaning that is potentially richer than those that either resource alone could convey. Additionally, readers are required to fill gaps that exist in different semiotic resources. One might argue, for example, that images in a graphic novel are always incomplete, as artists are incapable of depicting everything there is to be seen.
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Carrier: Response as a Form of Synthesis In The Aesthetics of Comics, David Carrier (2000) undertakes a philosophical study that leads him to compare the way people experience comics and fine art. Noting that various theorists have examined the different forms of attention literature and art demand, Carrier (2000) observes that little effort has been made “to compare our experience of these art forms” (p. 78). Having done so, he argues that theories of reading offer a potentially useful framework for understanding how comics, which employ a combination of word and image, come to mean. Readers will recall that my research project was premised on a similar assumption in that the theoretical framework I constructed to analyze my data was influenced by theories of aesthetic reading developed by literary critics such as Fish (1980), Rosenblatt (1938/1995, 1978), and Iser (1974, 1978). Foregrounding Iser’s (1978) theory of aesthetic reading, most notably his assumption that readers synthesize the perspectives they occupy as they read a text, Carrier (2000) foregrounds the active role readers play in constructing meaning. For him, this piecing together of a text is characteristic of the manner in which people experience art, regardless of the form it takes. Recognition of this point leads him to ask, “Once we acknowledge that all experience of art—whether reading literature or seeing pictures—involves synthesizing separate elements, why should comics and opera, which involve more than one kind of element, pose any special problem?” (p. 72). His question is germane to my study, as I sought to identify the semiotic resources the participants drew on in their transactions with graphic novels, and describe the manner in which they used them to construct meaning. As explained earlier, I assumed that this process would require the participants to synthesize the meanings individual resources conveyed in order to construct a larger interpretation, a process that Lewis (1996) refers to as polysystemy.
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Jacobs: The Reader and Design Elements in Comics Given that he directs attention to the role issues of design (New London Group, 1996) play in multimodal reading, Jacobs’ (2007) work is relevant to my study. Noting that arguments for using graphic novels in the classroom often underestimate the sophistication of multimodal literacy, Jacobs (2007) examined his own experiences as a reader to understand how he constructed meaning in his transactions with graphic novels. Grounding his reading of excerpts from a graphic novel in the work of the New London Group (1996), and appropriating concepts from social semiotics, he argued that graphic novels invite readers to “interact with up to six design elements, including linguistic, audio, visual, gestural, and spatial modes, as well as multimodal design” (p. 21). He subsequently concluded that readers draw on the conventions (or “grammars”) these design elements employ to construct meaning, much as they might in their transactions with written text. In an argument that is reminiscent of Iser’s (1978) theory of aesthetic reading, Jacobs (2007) argued that in the case of graphic novels, conventions serve to structure “the process of making meaning, while familiarity with these conventions, practice in reading comics, interest, prior experience, and attention given to that reading all come into play in the exercise of agency on the part of the reader (and writer)” (p. 24). Recognition of this point led him to propose that “structure and agency interact so that we are influenced by design conventions and grammars as we read but are not determined by them” (p. 24). Although Jacobs’s (2007) argument is provocative, it is necessary to foreground his status as a member of the academy, and thus as a highly skilled reader. One might wonder whether less experienced readers transact with the grammars that multimodal texts such as graphic novels employ in a similar manner. By conducting an applied study that led me to work with a group of high school students, I sought to address that question.
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Schwartz and Rubinstein-Avila: Manga and Multimodal Reading Writing for an audience of educators, Schwartz and Rubinstein-Avila (2006) addressed the challenges readers face in navigating the host of semiotic resources that converge in multimodal texts. In doing so they insisted on the need for educators to re-think their understanding of terms such as “reading,” “literacy,” and “text” to account for the range of multimodal texts that students encounter outside the classroom. Focusing specifically on manga, the Japanese equivalent of comics, Schwartz and Rubinstein-Avila (2006) expressed their desire to “explore manga’s semiotic features, and underscore the multimodal demands of these popular culture texts on readers” (p. 40). They did not, however, do this to any substantive degree. Instead, they observed that reading manga (or comics) compels readers to navigate a combination of word and image. Questions such as how they might do so, or how this might alter the nature of the reading experience, were left unexamined. In conducting a case study that asked how six high school students read and talked about graphic novels in the context of an after-school reading group, I sought to address these issues. Select Research on Comics Having reviewed conceptual scholarship that has considered the subject of comics reading, I conclude my literature review by examining research that has asked how readers experience works written in the medium of comics. Once again, my review is selective in that I have chosen to focus on studies that have asked how readers respond to comics. Although a number of scholars have addressed the pedagogical functions comic books and graphic novels might serve (Bitz, 2004; Carter, 2007; Monnin, 2010; Morrison et al., 2002; Schwarz, 2002, 2006), they have not necessarily expressed an interest in understanding how readers construct meaning in their transactions with this particular form of reading material.
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Likewise, while a number of librarians and literacy educators have addressed the role comic books and graphic novels play in motivating so-called “reluctant” readers (Crawford, 2004; Dorrell, 1987; Simmons, 2003; Snowball, 2005), they have not expressed an interest in multimodal reading. As such, their work is beyond the scope of my study. For organizational purposes, I approach the discussion to follow in two parts. To begin, I address reader interest research that attests to the popularity comic books and graphic novels hold for adolescent audiences. Following this, I review a series of studies that have asked how readers—adolescents in particular—construct meaning in their transactions with comic strips, comic books, manga, and graphic novels. In doing so my intention is to foreground gaps in the literature on comics reading that my study was designed to address. Popularity of Comics with Adolescents Citing a series of studies undertaken since the late 1940s, Wright and Sherman (2006) observe that works written in the medium of comics have proven popular with young readers for well over fifty years: Witty (1949) and Witty and Sizemore (1955) have reported the comic section of the newspapers as the favorite section by 85% of the children respondents and that 90% of children between the ages of 8 and 13 read comics frequently. Norvell’s (1973) longitudinal study on school age children’s reading interest produced results similar to those reported by Witty. Dechant and Smith (1977) found comic strip materials to be popular with intermediate, junior high school, and even primary age children. McKenna (1986) found that comics were the strongest reading interest of 576 junior and senior high school struggling readers. (p. 168) Reader interest research conducted in the past decade attests to the appeal that comic books— and, more recently, graphic novels—continue to hold for adolescent readers. Worthy et al. (1999) examined the reading preferences of 419 sixth-graders who attended three middle schools in an economically and ethnically diverse school district in Texas. In doing so they sought to determine the extent to which the students’ preferred forms
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of reading material were available to them in school. To conduct their study, they administered a two-part reading interest survey. The first portion of the survey presented a list of 21 reading materials, and invited the participants to select the materials they would most like to read if given the opportunity to do so. The second part of the survey asked the students to identify one form of material they most preferred to read, as well as their favorite author. To acquaint themselves with the nature of the language arts program the students experienced in school, the researchers interviewed their teachers, and observed their classrooms on one occasion. Additionally, they interviewed the librarian at each of the three research sites to gauge the extent to which the students had access to their preferred forms of reading material in school. Having analyzed their data, Worthy et al. (1999) concluded that the “two most preferred categories by a wide margin were scary stories and books (66% of the participants) and cartoons and comics (65%)” (p. 19). Comics were found to have represented the students’ second most preferred form of reading material regardless of their socio-economic status, attitudes toward reading, or achievement level. The only exception pertained to gender, as boys were found to have cited comics as their second favorite form of reading material, and girls their third. Although the teachers Worthy et al. (1999) interviewed were comfortable with the prospect of students reading comic books at home, they were reluctant to acknowledge them as a valid form of reading material for use in school. Similarly, two of the three librarians the researchers interviewed shared their belief that it was inappropriate for students to read comics in school. To denote the extent to which students had access to their preferred forms of reading material in school, the researchers made use of the categories “Very good,” “Moderate,” “Limited,” and “Very Limited.” Comics were listed as “Unavailable,” the result of which led
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Worthy et al. (1999) to argue that “the definition of school reading should be broadened to include the use of materials that students read outside of school in addition to contemporary and classical literary works, young adult publications, and accurate, appealing information books” (p. 24). Hughes-Hassell and Rodge (2007) administered a reading interest survey to urban middle school students known to struggle with reading. According to the researchers, the students’ scores on the state reading assessment, “which is given to all eight-graders, indicated that 68% [were] performing below basic, 23% basic, and 9% proficient” (p. 23). A total of 584 students responded to the 20-item survey instrument. Although magazines were the most popular form of leisure reading material with males and females alike, the researchers found that “comic books and the Internet were also favorites for leisure reading, with 44% of the students indicating that they liked to read comic books and 37% choosing the Internet” (p. 25). Recognition of this point led the researchers to argue that comic books warrant a place in the classroom, and, like Worthy et al. (1999), they encouraged educators to acknowledge comics as a legitimate form of reading material. Hughes-Hassell and Rodge (2007) also identified a need for educators to ask how they might expand current assessment strategies to “understand the strengths developed by these materials and use the results to develop instructional strategies to help [students] become better readers” (p. 31). In a research project she conducted for her dissertation, Poerschke (2005) studied the reading interests of high school students. In doing so she asked what they preferred to read, how factors such as gender, age, grade level, ethnicity, and reading ability influenced their reading interests, and to what extent they interacted with non-print texts (e.g., television, video games, etc.). To collect data, Poerschke (2005) administered a reading interest survey
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to approximately 9,000 high school students in grades nine through twelve in a diverse suburban school district in Southeast Texas. While comic books and graphic novels were found to have constituted the least popular form of reading material, they nevertheless proved popular with “slightly less than half of the students participating in the study” (Poerschke, 2005, p. 274). Like Worthy et al. (1999), Poerschke (2005) found that comic books and graphic novels were more popular with males (49.6%) than females (40.5%). Her work also led her to observe a “small, yet steady, increase in comic reading from struggling readers, to average readers” (p. 296). Recognition of this point led her to argue “that more proficient readers read more comics, cartoons, comic books, and graphic novels” (p. 296). In light of her findings, Poerschke (2005) concluded that “graphic novels belong in every school and classroom library,” although she acknowledged that it was necessary for educators to learn more “about graphic novels and how to select quality examples for young adults” (p. 299). The aforementioned research points to the appeal works written in the medium of comics hold for adolescent audiences. Nevertheless, it would appear that students are given relatively few opportunities to transact with this form of reading material in school, often because teachers are reluctant to acknowledge its merit. Although Poerschke (2005) observed that proficient readers are more likely to read comic books and graphic novels, few applied studies have asked how stronger readers at the high school level conceive of graphic novels as a form of reading material, or how they read and talk about them. By choosing to work with a group of students who were identified by their respective English teachers as proficient readers, my study sought to address a gap in the literature on graphic novel reading.
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Select Studies on Reading Comics Cultural codes and comics reading. In his dissertation, Miller (2001) drew on Barthes’ (1970/1974) theory of reading—specifically, his contention that readers adhere to culturally prescribed codes in their interactions with written texts—to make sense of the processes wherein he read and interpreted comic strips and excerpts from graphic novels. For Miller (2001), efforts to locate meaning in a comic strip are misguided in that they fail to acknowledge the role culture plays in shaping readers’ experiences with (and interpretations of) signs. A more productive approach, he argues, would proceed from an assumption that meaning is “the emergent product of the interaction between a culture, a reader, and a comic strip” (p. 4). Such an argument is consistent with the theoretical framework that I developed earlier in this chapter. According to Barthes (1970/1974), readers adhere to a series of culturally prescribed codes in their transactions with texts—the proairetic, hermeneutic, semic, referential, and symbolic. As conceptualized by Barthes (1970/1974), the proairetic code enables readers to organize a series of otherwise disconnected events into what they recognize as a logical sequence governed by linear causality. The hermeneutic code, on the other hand, allows them to recognize some signs as posing questions, and others as frustrating their efforts to resolve those questions through a series of misdirections. The semic code is held to allow readers to discern a sign’s connotative meanings, thereby enabling them to formulate impressions of characters and settings, while the referential code is said to foreground specific discourses—that is, taken for granted ways of thinking and talking about sociocultural practices (i.e., education, business, marriage, etc.). Finally, Barthes assumes that the symbolic code allows readers to recognize the presence of binaries in a text.
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Following Barthes, Miller (2001) argues that readers appropriate these codes as a result of their cultural situatedness: Cultures provide rules for reading in the form of ambient codes that circulate among members; they are socialized into readers steeped in that culture, endlessly negotiated in social interaction, and enacted in the process of reading. The reader, by enacting these codes, perpetuates both the codes and the worldview they construct/support. (p. 4) So far as my study is concerned, Miller’s (2001) argument is provocative for several reasons. First, it acknowledges the active role readers play in constructing meaning in their interactions with texts written in the medium of comics. Second, it regards reading as a culturally mediated activity, and thus shares an assumption on which my study is founded— namely, that people learn to interact with graphic novels in a manner that reflects the practices of the communities (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) to which they belong. However, Miller’s (2001) findings are premised on an examination of his own experiences reading comic strips and excerpts from graphic novels, the result of which is potentially problematic given that, as a graduate student, he is a highly skilled reader. In the absence of an applied study, it is unclear whether high school students transact with graphic novels in a similar manner. Reading manga. To account for manga’s popularity with readers, Allen and Ingulsrud (2003) surveyed 297 students who attended a small liberal arts college in southwest Japan. In addition to deriving personal pleasure from reading manga, they found that the students read manga to pass time, and to learn how to express themselves in different situations. Much of the manga the participants read pertained to “school life and focused on issues common to high school students such as bullying, making friends, and sports teams” (p. 677). According to Allen and Ingulsrud (2003), one of the primary reasons for which manga proved popular with their informants was the perceived ease with which they assumed
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it was read. Nevertheless, the researchers cautioned that a “reading activity can appear easy when readers are skilled in reading particular texts” (p. 678), thereby masking the otherwise considerable body of knowledge they draw on. Having considered the range of conventions that manga employ, Allen and Ingulsrud (2003) concluded that, appearances notwithstanding, the convergence of “graphics, format, and text” conspire to “make the reading of manga a complex process” (p. 679). Manga reading as a communal activity. In a subsequent project, Allen and Ingulsrud (2005) asked how Japanese students learn to read manga. To address that question they drew on data from a variety of studies they conducted, including a survey of 500 junior high school students in three Tokyo schools, interviews with 14 elementary and junior high students (as well as some of their parents), a survey of 297 college students, and interviews with 10 members of a university manga club. They found that readers were often introduced to manga by parents, siblings, or friends, an observation that is consistent with an assumption on which my case study is premised—namely, that readers enter a community of comics readers through the support of a sponsor (Brandt, 2001). Additionally, Allen and Ingulsrud (2005) found that their informants exchanged reading material with other manga readers, thus setting up a sort of distribution network. Recognition of this point led them to conclude that “manga reading is communally initiated and communally maintained” (p. 272), and they cited “the importance of belonging to a community of readers [that] enables readers to share their ideas and provides a resource for developing reading skills” (p. 265). The latter assertion is consistent with my expectation that readers appropriate strategies for reading and talking about graphic novels as they interact with other readers in the context of a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). As evidenced by the data corpus on which Allen and Ingulsrud (2005) drew, their findings were
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based on self-reports the informants in their study provided in response to interview and survey questions, as opposed to first-hand observations of their transactions in a community of manga readers. In my study I used participant observation (Spradley, 1980) to examine the way high school students read and responded to graphic novels in the context of an afterschool reading group, which I regarded as a prospective community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). Reading Archie comics in a community. Norton’s (2003) work with comics was in part motivated by her desire to “understand the nature of students’ engagement with Archie comics and the extent to which this engagement can be better understood with reference to larger sociocultural practices both inside and outside of schools” (p. 141). Relying on questionnaires and interviews, she examined the experiences of 34 culturally and linguistically diverse comic book readers who ranged in age from 9 to 12, and who attended an elementary school in Vancouver, Canada. Of the 34 students, 13 were English language learners. Similar to Allen and Ingulsrud (2005), Norton (2003) found that Archie readers constituted “an informal and loosely connected reading community in which the vast majority were introduced to Archie comics by friends” (p. 143). While feelings of ownership motivated the students to participate in critical conversations about the stories they read in Archie comic books, thereby fostering deep engagement, Norton (2003) found that their interactions with chapter books in school were often characterized by a desire “to determine what kind of analysis teachers would consider appropriate” (p. 146). While Norton’s (2003) findings provide valuable insights into the way young readers conceive of and interact with comic books, her findings are based on self-reports the participants provided in response to survey and interview questions. In that sense they potentially represent what Patton (2002) calls “selective perceptions” (p. 264). My decision
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to assemble a reading group was in part motivated by my desire to observe the participants as they talked about graphic novels with other readers in a communal setting. Likewise, by asking the participants to maintain response journals as they read the four graphic novels, I hoped to gain insights into their reading practices that interviews and surveys might not necessarily have afforded me. Students’ response to comic books. A qualitative research project that Martin (1992) conducted for his dissertation stands out for having been one of the first applied studies to have asked how high school students respond to texts written in the medium of comics. Locating his study in a rural public high school in Virginia, Martin (1992) worked with one heterogeneously grouped class of 25 sophomores, and two heterogeneously grouped classes of seniors, each with 18 students, to understand the “nature and scope of secondary English students’ written aesthetic responses to the newly published Classics Illustrated comics,” and to determine whether reading comic books altered their attitudes toward reading and English (p. 3). Over the course of a four-week period students were instructed to read four of 27 Classics Illustrated comic books for homework, and record their aesthetic responses—which the researcher defined as personal, affective connections—to them. Having finished reading a comic book, the students were invited to compose a written response to the text as a whole. At the end of each week the students submitted their responses to the classroom teacher, who subsequently passed them on to the researcher. Data analysis led Martin (1992) to conclude that reading Classics Illustrated comic books prompted the students to produce a range of responses. He observed that “written aesthetic responses made while reading were likely to be personal in nature, while written aesthetic responses made after reading were likely to be text related (evaluative) in nature” (p. 182). Additionally, Martin (1992) found that seniors produced a greater number of
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personal responses than sophomores, and he argued that the categories of response that emerged in his study were not unlike those identified in other studies of reader response, the result of which led him to conclude that “various kinds of texts—such as Classics Illustrated comics—may produce responses similar in nature to those resulting from students’ reading of other kinds of texts, such as short stories and plays” (p. 183). Analysis of pre- and post-tests of the Estes Attitude Scales, along with data obtained from interviews with a focus group, led Martin (1992) to conclude that the opportunity to read and write about comic books had little, if any, impact on students’ attitudes toward English or reading (p. 179). Despite the valuable insights it provided, Martin’s (1992) study was marked by limitations. First, the classroom teacher with whom he worked was unable to accommodate the reading of comic books in his daily lesson plans, the result of which led Martin (1992) to require his participants to read them for homework, a decision that was not without ramifications. In interviews, some students suggested “that they had so much to do in English class that the comics were just an afterthought or an added burden to their time” (p. 196). More importantly, Martin limited the scope of his project to examining the students’ written responses to comic books, a decision that was motivated by his inability to spend time in the classroom, and by his conviction that writing would sufficiently enable them to reflect on their responses to the comic books. He neither provided them with opportunities to talk about their responses with other readers, nor investigated the influence doing so might have had on the way they responded to subsequent comic books they read. Relatively few students commented on the visual aspects of the comic books they read in their written responses, an observation that surprised Martin (1992), who conceded that the “nature of the artwork probably influenced the kinds of responses of the readers” (p. 186). As such, one is left to wonder whether the participants overlooked the illustrations in
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favor of the written language, or if, as Martin speculated, “posing specific questions about the effect of illustrations on students reading Classics Illustrated comics might lead to a better understanding of what kind of illustrations elicit what kinds of response” (p. 190). To avoid one of the challenges that confronted Martin (1992)—namely, the need to accommodate a classroom teacher’s schedule and work with students in the context of a compulsory class—I elected to assemble an after-school reading group that was made up of volunteers, and that allowed me to examine their responses to four graphic novels over an extended period of time. Designing my study in such a manner also ensured that the participants had the opportunity to talk about graphic novels with other readers in the context of recurring discussions, the result of which allowed me to determine whether sharing their responses with other readers had any influence on the way the participants conceived of them as a form of reading material. Outsider literacy practices. In a study she conducted for her dissertation, Romanelli (2009) expressed her desire to understand what she called “outsider literacy practices” by asking how nine adults—seven males and two females—with experience reading comics read selections from two graphic novels—one of which was representative of the superhero genre, and the other of manga. To collect data, she made use of think-aloud protocols, which set her study apart from others that have asked how readers construct meaning in their transactions with works written in the medium of comics. Additionally, she made use of follow-up interviews, as well as literacy history questionnaires. As a result of her work, Romanelli (2009) identified 28 actions in which the nine participants engaged as they read excerpts from two graphic novels. Each of these actions was found to have been consistent with the critical reading practices in which readers engage when they interact with traditional print texts. The researcher subsequently grouped the 28
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actions into six overarching categories. Readers were found to have: a) directed their attention; b) constructed meaning; c) monitored their understanding; d) drawn on prior knowledge to make connections; e) critiqued content and aesthetics; and f) demonstrated emotional involvement with the story (pp. 254-255). Challenging the assumption that readers are passive when they read comic books and graphic novels, Romanelli (2009) interpreted these practices as evidence that the participants “read actively, used critical thinking and problem-solving skills to work their way through the texts by discussing how they read looking for ‘clues’ to both the current texts and potential sequels, and drew from their own literacy and personal experiences to make connections with the text” (pp. 248-249). Romanelli (2009) also found that her participants drew on their knowledge of conventions that inform Western-style comics in three ways. First, conventions constituted a resource they used to rectify confusion they faced as readers. To this end the participants were found to have “looked for visual cues common to their comics reading experience, such as the size, shape, line quality and presence (or absence) of text bubbles and panel divisions, as well as image and text placement” (p. 185). Additionally, Romanelli (2009) observed that the participants drew on their knowledge of comics conventions to explain “why or how they knew what the text was trying to convey or how they knew where to look next” (p. 186). Finally, the participants were found to have evaluated the manner in which cartoonists made use of conventions by weighing them against their own personal preferences. Romanelli (2009) argued that the participants’ familiarity with a genre influenced their reading experience. To this end she observed that the nine participants, all of whom had considerable experience reading Western superhero comics, experienced the most confusion when they read “the shojo manga novel, the genre with which most of
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them were unfamiliar” (p. 181). Recognition of this point led her to conclude that familiarity with genre influences the manner in which people read graphic novels. Although the point was not given considerable attention, Romanelli (2009) identified a social aspect of reading comic books and graphic novels as well. Specifically, she observed that the majority of the participants “reported that comics and graphic novels were primary means of engaging with friends and family members of a similar age to the readers” (p. 252). Of particular relevance to my study is Romanelli’s (2009) recommendation that future research take as its subject “young or emergent graphic novels readers to discover how they read these kinds of texts” (p. 293). Students’ response to a graphic novel. For her dissertation, Hammond (2009) conducted a qualitative research project that asked how 23 high school seniors in a political science class responded to the graphic novel American Born Chinese. Having received permission from a teacher to situate her study in his classroom, Hammond (2009) met with the students a total of six times at the end of the school year. During the initial three meetings the students were given time to read the graphic novel and respond to question prompts the researcher assigned them. In a subsequent meeting Hammond (2009) facilitated a discussion about the graphic novel, though she explained that few students participated. Following this she administered a reading questionnaire that examined the participants’ reading interests, their experience reading graphic novels, and their evaluation of the graphic novel they read in the study. When she met with the participants a fifth time, Hammond (2009) gave a lecture on the history of comics, and taught a lesson in which she addressed “the conventions of comics and how to read them” (p. 80). The participants then re-read the graphic novel and composed a final response to it, a result of the researcher’s desire to determine whether the lesson, in concert with the whole-class discussion, caused their
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responses to undergo any degree of change. In the final meeting Hammond (2009) collected the participants’ final responses and interviewed a focus group comprised of five students. According to Hammond (2009), data analysis indicated that the participants retold and interpreted aspects of the graphic novel’s plot; evaluated the content of the narrative; made connections to other texts, as well as to their own lives; asked questions they faced as readers; and commented on specific images they encountered. Like Martin (1992), she found that the participants responded to the graphic novel they read much as they might a traditional novel. Recognition of this point led her to argue that “students have similar responses to literature regardless of the format” (p. 145). She speculated that in the absence of question prompts that invited the participants to respond to images, she might not have as received as many comments about the artwork, which constituted approximately 25% of the total responses. According to Hammond (2009), when the participants reread the graphic novel and composed a final response to it, more than half of them suggested that the manner in which they read it had not undergone any degree of change. The remaining participants reported that the way they read the book changed to some extent. Specifically, they felt that they paid closer attention to the images. This, coupled with the increase she observed in the degree of frequency with which the participants cited conventions in their final written responses, led Hammond (2009) to conclude that “the lesson in comics conventions increased their visual literacy skills, and students changed their reading methods during their second reading” (p. 168). Recognition of this point led her to cite a need for educators to teach comics conventions (p. 178). Asked whether they felt they learned anything as a result of the lesson the researcher taught on comics conventions, however, the students who took part in the focus interview indicated that they had not learned “anything that changed their reading,
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other than information about graphic novels conventions” (p. 127), an assertion that potentially undermines Hammond’s (2009) claim. Given my desire to understand how high school students conceive of graphic novels as a form of reading material, Hammond’s (2009) observation that the students who participated in her focus group interview were cognizant of a stigma attached to reading graphic novels that “contributed to its lack of popularity” (p. 126) is of particular interest. Additionally, the participants were said to have associated graphic novels with students outside of the mainstream, the result of which led Hammond (2009) to caution, “These group associations could serve to stigmatize graphic novels and dissuade mainstream students from reading them” (p. 155). Nevertheless, she reported that when her participants were given the opportunity to read a graphic novel, they enjoyed the experience, and expressed an interest in reading other graphic novels. Although Hammond’s (2009) study yielded valuable information about the way high school students respond to graphic novels, it is characterized by distinct limitations. First, the participants only read one graphic novel, a result of the fact that the researcher chose to situate her study in another teacher’s classroom, and was obliged to accommodate his schedule. How the students might have responded to other graphic novels is therefore uncertain. This is a particular concern in light of Romanelli’s (2009) observation that genre influences readers’ experiences reading comics and graphic novels. Equally problematic, the participants were given one opportunity to share their responses to the graphic novel in the context of discussion, and the researcher observed that few of them participated. One is thus left to wonder whether encountering the responses of other readers over an extended period of time might have brought about changes in the way they constructed meaning and responded to other graphic novels they read. Accounting for these limitations, Hammond
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(2009) recommended that future research take as its starting point “a graphic novel book club already established or established for the purposes of the study” (p. 176), something that my project did. Conclusion The preceding literature review indicates that one might reasonably expect readers to respond to works written in the medium of comics in a manner that is similar, but not identical, to the way they respond to traditional print texts. Likewise, it suggests that readers are active in constructing meaning, and that they draw on their knowledge of conventions— or what Kress and Van Leeuwen (2001) call grammars—to do so (Jacobs, 2007). Additionally, the scholarship that I have foregrounded in this chapter indicates that readers develop a sense of familiarity with comics conventions as they gain experience reading works written in the medium of comics, and as they participate in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) that values that particular form of reading material. Though insightful, Romanelli’s (2009) study concentrated on the experiences of adult readers, all of whom had considerable experience reading comics. Whereas Martin (1992) sought to understand how high school students responded to Classics Illustrated comic books, he did not create opportunities for his participants to share their responses with other readers in the context of discussion, an oversight that ignores the possibility that such interactions might have brought about qualitative changes in the way they responded to subsequent comic books they read. Similarly, the high school students that participated in Hammond’s (2009) research project read a single graphic novel, and were given one opportunity to share their responses to it with other readers. Moreover, the vast majority of them were said to have lacked experience reading graphic novels, the result of which led Hammond (2009) to speculate that students who had more experience “would presumably respond differently” (p.
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174). To date, no applied studies have asked how high school students who are deemed proficient readers read, talk about, and conceive of graphic novels as a form of reading material in the context of a community of readers that meets over an extended period of time. The research project that I conducted sought to address what I recognized as a gap in the literature on multimodal reading, while at the same time contributing to the field of English education’s understanding of a form of reading material that research suggests is popular with adolescent audiences (Hughes-Hassell & Rodge, 2007; Poerschke, 2005; Worthy et al., 1999). To do so the project took the form of a case study and asked how six high school students who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers, and who volunteered to take part in an after-school reading group that met seven times over a period of 17 weeks, read, talked about, and conceived of four graphic novels as a form of reading material. As explained in the opening chapter, the following research questions framed my study: 1) What are high school students’ experiences reading graphic novels, and how do they conceive of them as a form of reading material? 2) What semiotic resources do high school students draw on as they read graphic novels, and in what ways do they work with them? 3) How do high school students talk about graphic novels in the context of an afterschool reading group? 4) To what extent, if at all, do high school students’ conceptions of graphic novels change as they are given opportunities to read and talk about them in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group?
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In the chapter to follow I examine the methodology that I employed in my study, and introduce the six students who agreed to participate in a voluntary after-school reading group that I facilitated at Hamilton High School.
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CHAPTER 3: RESEARCH METHODOLOGY
As will be recalled, the qualitative research project that I undertook asked how a group of high school students who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, what semiotic resources they drew on as they read them, and how, if at all, talking about graphic novels in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group influenced the manner in which they conceived of them. This chapter is divided into six sections. To begin, I offer an overview of my research project, foregrounding the research questions that I sought to answer, and the case study approach that I employed to do so. In the second section I describe the research site, and discuss the procedures that I followed to gain access and secure IRB approval. In the third section I explore the steps that were taken to recruit participants, after which I introduce the six individuals who volunteered to take part in the reading group. The fourth section outlines the schedule the reading group followed, as well as the criteria that informed my selection of the graphic novels that were used in the study. The fifth section explicates the procedures that I followed to collect data, and identifies the data set that was used to address each of the four research questions. In the sixth section I examine the procedures that I followed to analyze the data, a process that entailed the use of grounded theory (Bogdan & Biklen, 1982; Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1998). To bring the chapter to a close, I review the steps that were taken to ensure the study’s trustworthiness (Lincoln & Guba, 1985).
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Overview of the Study and Research Questions In conducting this research project my intention was to understand how a group of proficient readers read and talked about graphic novels, a popular form of multimodal text that interweaves a range of semiotic resources—most notably word and image—to convey a narrative. As was explained in the first chapter, my study was situated epistemologically and ontologically in what Denzin and Lincoln (2003) refer to as the constructivist paradigm, which conceives knowledge as socially situated, and which assumes that human beings assign meaning to the phenomena with which they interact. Four research questions framed my study: 1) What are high school students’ experiences reading graphic novels, and how do they conceive of them as a form of reading material? 2) What semiotic resources do high school students draw on as they read graphic novels, and in what ways do they work with them? 3) How do high school students talk about graphic novels in the context of an afterschool reading group? 4) To what extent, if at all, do high school students’ conceptions of graphic novels change as they are given opportunities to read and talk about them in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group? According to Stake (2003), “Case study is not a methodological choice but a choice of what is to be studied” (p. 134). Having made this distinction, he identifies three types of case study: the intrinsic case, which he suggests is undertaken when a researcher wishes to understand the specifics of a particular case; the collective case study, which examines multiple cases with the intention of understanding a particular phenomenon; and the instrumental case study, which is undertaken to gain deeper insight into a specific issue.
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According to Stake (2003), the instrumental case study “facilitates our understanding of something else. The case is still looked at in depth, its contexts scrutinized, its ordinary activities detailed, but all because this helps the researcher to pursue an external interest” (p. 137). As was seen in the opening chapter, arguments for using graphic novels in educational contexts occasionally celebrate their ability to motivate so-called “reluctant” readers (Crawford, 2004; Dorrell, 1987; Simmons, 2003; Snowball, 2005), and support students who struggle with reading and writing (Bitz, 2004; Frey & Fisher, 2004; McVicker, 2007; Morrison et al., 2002). Though others acknowledge works written in the medium of comics as a complex form of reading material (Alan & Ingulsrud, 2003; Jacobs, 2007; Versaci, 2001, 2007), and though they point to the value of using graphic novels with readers of varying ability levels (Carter, 2007), few applied studies have asked how stronger readers at the high school level experience them. To account for this gap in the literature, I conducted an instrumental case study (Stake, 2003) that asked how six high school students who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers, and who attended Hamilton High School1, a suburban school with a local reputation for academic excellence, read and talked about four graphic novels in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group. As will be explained later in this chapter, I collected data for my study using methods that are associated with qualitative research. Specifically, I made use of whole-group and individual semi-structured interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994), participant observation (Spradley, 1980), and the collection of written artifacts. To answer the four research questions, I analyzed the data inductively using grounded theory (Bogdan & Biklen, 1982; Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1998). I made use of open and axial coding
1
All names used in this dissertation are pseudonyms.
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(Strauss & Corbin, 1998) to fracture the data and identify emergent and recurring themes, and selective coding to integrate and refine them. The Research Site Rationale for Selecting the Research Site Spradley (1980) observes that individual researchers “will have different reasons for selecting a particular setting for research” (p. 45). My decision to situate my case study at Hamilton High School was influenced by a number of factors, not least of which was my familiarity with its reputation for academic excellence. At the time I conceived this case study, I was entering my fourth year as a University Supervisor, a position that required me to work closely with M.Ed. interns (a term used to identify preservice teachers in the university’s graduate program in English education). Having supervised several interns who completed their student teaching assignments at Hamilton High School, I was familiar with its strong academic program, and had developed professional relationships with several of its English teachers. Indeed, three of the interns that I supervised in my first year as a University Supervisor subsequently joined the high school’s English faculty. Recognizing that they were in a position to help me identify and recruit prospective participants, I came to regard Hamilton High School as a potential site for my research. Given that my research project sought to understand how proficient readers experienced graphic novels, the reputation Hamilton High School enjoyed for academic excellence was especially attractive to me. Prior to selecting a research site, I visited the Ohio Department of Education’s web site and compared scores for several area school districts on the reading portion of the Ohio Graduation Test. Doing so revealed that Hamilton’s scores were consistently among the highest in the area, the result of which
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ensured that I would have access to an ample population of proficient readers, thereby satisfying a central component of my research design. Issues of convenience played a role in leading me to identify Hamilton High School as a potential site for my research as well. My work as a University Supervisor, coupled with my teaching duties and responsibilities as a graduate student, led me to spend a considerable amount of time on the campus of the university that I attended. Hamilton High School was situated approximately two-and-a-half miles from the university, the result of which ensured that I would have ample time to travel to the research site, unpack and organize my research equipment, and prepare to greet the participants as they arrived for the reading group meetings. An additional reason Hamilton High School appealed to me as a site for my research stemmed from an encounter I had with Dr. Audrey Fisher, the director of the high school’s Learning Center, who joined a group of guest speakers that addressed graduate students in a young adult literature course my advisor taught during the spring 2008 academic quarter. Listening to Dr. Fisher speak, it was evident that she valued various kinds of texts, that she was passionate about working with adolescents, and that she was committed to searching for innovative ways to promote reading. She explained that she had revamped the high school’s literature collection to introduce books that she assumed would appeal to students, including young adult novels and graphic novels. She also spoke about innovative programs she and her staff had introduced, one of which was “Books-and-Bagels,” a book club comprised of juniors and seniors who periodically gathered before school to talk about a work of literature they agreed to read as a group. Given her willingness to acknowledge non-traditional texts as a legitimate form of reading material, and recognizing that she had experience organizing a book club for students at the high school, I came to regard Dr. Fisher as a potential ally in my
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efforts to situate my study at the high school. Thus, in the fall of 2008, I opted to approach her and solicit her help in locating my case study at Hamilton High School. Hamilton High School A modern, two-story brick structure, Hamilton High School resides in an affluent suburban community, and is situated at the southern-most end of a campus that features meticulously cared for athletic fields and state of the art facilities. On a typical weekday the school’s parking lots are full to overflowing, and the streets that surround the campus are lined with vehicles, the first indication that visitors receive of the relatively affluent backgrounds from which many of the school’s students come. As evidenced by Table 3.1, Hamilton High School Statistics: 2008-2009 Location of School:
Suburban
Total Enrollment:
1,660
Demographics:
White: 91% Asian: 6.2% Hispanic: .8% Black: .7% Multi-Racial: 1.2%
Students Reported as Economically Disadvantaged:
0%
Limited English Proficiency:
.8%
10th Grade OGT Score (Reading):
98.2% at or above proficient
10th Grade OGT Score (Writing):
98.8% at or above proficient
11th Grade OGT Score (Reading):
99.5% at or above proficient
11th Grade OGT Score (Writing):
99% at or above proficient
Table 3.1: Hamilton High School Statistics the demographic makeup of the high school is homogenous: 91% of the students are White, 6.2% Asian, .8% Hispanic, and .7% Black. According to statistics that I obtained from the
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Ohio Department of Education, no students were reported as economically disadvantaged at the time my study took place, and only .8% were identified as Limited English Proficient. Hamilton High School is known for maintaining a rigorous academic program, and the vast majority of its students are raised in homes that value reading and afford them access to an array of reading materials. As one might expect, Hamilton’s students consistently perform well on the Ohio Graduation Test. In 2008-2009, 98.2% of the sophomores who took the test scored at or above proficient in reading, and 98.8% were at or above proficient in writing. In that same year 99.5% of the juniors who took the examination scored at or above proficient in reading, while 99.0% were at or above proficient in writing. The high school boasts a high graduation rate, and the majority of its students go on to attend college. Progressive High School In 2006, the Hamilton City School District initiated the Progressive High School, a school within a school that resides on the second floor of Hamilton High School, and adheres to the tenets of progressive education. The Progressive School was founded in part by Jennifer Ellis, a member of Hamilton High School’s English Department. Dissatisfied with what she felt was the “lock-step direction the English department was taking” (Field Notes – 5/18/2009), Jennifer helped develop an educational program that was designed to accommodate students who might otherwise struggle to find their way in a traditional school setting. Like Hamilton High School, the Progressive High School serves a range of students, from gifted to struggling. Many of them are artists, and others participate in theater. Regardless of their differences, the majority of the Progressive High School’s students share a bond in that they resist the structures that often characterize schooling in the United States, one of which is a need to bend to authority.
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In keeping with its student-centered philosophy of education, the Progressive High School strives to empower students by giving them a voice in their education. Students vote on a range of issues, including what units they will study, what form their assessments will take, and what literature they will read for class. Rather than fracture the curriculum into a series of disparate subjects, history, language arts, math, and science are instead integrated. Upon graduating, students earn a diploma from the Hamilton City School District, which identifies them as having attended the Progressive High School. In the past, students who attended the Progressive High School met for their academic classes in a building located near Hamilton High School’s athletic fields. As of the 2008-2009 school year, however, the Progressive School had moved into a space on the second floor of the high school, the result of which meant that its students shared facilities with students who attended Hamilton High School. They took their non-academic classes (e.g., art, music, physical education) alongside students at Hamilton High School, and participated in its extra-curricular programs. Teachers who taught Progressive School classes taught at Hamilton High School as well, the result of which occasionally made it difficult to distinguish between the two programs. At the time my study took place the Progressive High School served 56 students in grades 9, 11, and 12, and plans existed to phase in a sophomore class the following year. Table 3.2 presents statistics regarding the demographic makeup of the Progressive High School, as well as its students’ performance on the Ohio state graduation test. In the absence of a sophomore class, scores were available only for those juniors who took the examination.
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Progressive High School Statistics: 2008-2009 Location of School:
Suburban
Total Enrollment:
56
Demographics:
White: 100%
Students Reported as Economically Disadvantaged:
0%
Limited English Proficiency:
0%
11th Grade OGT Score (Reading):
100% at or above proficient
11th Grade OGT Score (Writing):
100% at or above proficient
Table 3.2: Progressive High School Statistics The Learning Center at Hamilton High School Though it resides in the southern-most wing of the building, the Learning Center might be thought to constitute the heart of Hamilton High School. Spacious and tastefully decorated, it houses the school’s library collection, as well as several banks of Apple computers that are available to students who need to type an assignment or search the school’s databases for books and articles. On any given day one might expect to find students seated at round tables situated throughout the Learning Center working quietly on assignments. Others stroll casually up and down aisles in search of books amidst the familiar “tap, tap, tapping” sound of fingers striking keyboards. Amidst this setting one can find Dr. Audrey Fisher, the Learning Center’s director, and a media specialist, facilitating libraryrelated programs in an adjoining classroom, or working with classes whose teachers have required them to undertake a research project. Approximately 13,000 books occupy the library shelves in the Learning Center, and according to Dr. Fisher, somewhere between one-third and one-half are fiction. Dissatisfied with the state of the library’s collection, and seeking to create opportunities for students to
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interact with books that appeal to them, she and Karen Murphy, a fellow media specialist, undertook what they characterized as “a major weeding-out process,” the result of which led them to remove a host of junior novels from the collection, many of which dated back to the 1930s. “You wouldn’t believe some of the books we took off the shelves,” Dr. Fisher explained. “Kids would never have bothered to pick them up because they had no relevance to their lives” (Field Notes – 5/28/09). Upon discovering that the bookshelves were essentially bare by the time they finished, she and Mrs. Murphy set about rebuilding the collection. To locate books that they assumed would appeal to contemporary teenagers, Dr. Fisher and Mrs. Murphy consulted Voices of Youth Advocates (VOYA), along with several other literature review resources. They also initiated a book club, known as the Readers Advisory Panel, or R.A.P., which consisted of eight students. Having divided $500 from her budget amongst them, Dr. Fisher sent the students to a local bookstore and instructed them to purchase books they would want to read. She recalled that they returned carrying an array of books that ranged from The Gossip Girl series to works of non-fiction. According to Dr. Fisher, it was not unusual for substitute teachers to comment on her decision to shelve books from the latter series, which they considered “too racy” for school (Field Notes – 5/28/09). Noting that there were students who enjoyed the books, however, and driven to promote reading, Dr. Fisher was unwilling to deny them that pleasure. In addition to canonical and young adult literature, the Learning Center features an array of nontraditional texts, including graphic novels. According to Dr. Fisher, the graphic novel collection is highly trafficked and exists in a state of perpetual disarray. “It’s the only area of the library where the books are consistently a tumble,” she explained. “Every time I go over there they’re out of order, or they’re on the wrong shelves, or they’re lying face
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down. Karen and I put them back where they belong, and they’re out of order again the next day” (Field Notes – 5/28/09). Far from frustrated, she interpreted this as a sign that students were interested in reading graphic novels. She went on to explain that while graphic novels were not checked out frequently, students visited that section of the library on a daily basis. “In some cases they’ll start reading a graphic novel,” she explained, “then put it back on the shelf when the bell rings. They come back the following day and pick up reading where they left off” (Field Notes – 5/28/09). Though she stressed the importance of reading a balance of canonical and contemporary literature, Dr. Fisher suggested that there were members of the high school’s English department who were unlikely to share her affinity for young adult literature, let alone non-traditional texts. “We have books for young adults on the shelves in the back and teachers come in and want to look at them,” she explained. “I tell them they’re available as e-books and that they can access them from home on-line, but they don’t want to do that” (Field Notes – 5/28/09). She speculated that their reluctance to do so was partially attributable to what she assumed was their discomfort with electronic media. Although she was unable to confirm it, she also suspected that the teachers were reluctant to teach something with which they were unfamiliar, the result of which led to their “trying to preserve the old ways” (Field Notes - 5/28/09). As the preceding discussion suggests, a primary objective toward which Dr. Fisher and her colleagues in the Learning Center worked was to promote the pleasure to be found in reading. Given their objective, they did not privilege one form of text over another. Instead, they created opportunities for students to interact with an array of texts that ranged from canonical literature to electronic media to graphic novels. Interviews with members of the English department, however, indicated that there was considerable debate surrounding the
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question of what students ought to read in their high school English classes. To offer readers a sense of the context in which students studied literature at Hamilton High School, I draw from my interviews with faculty to describe the literature program, as well as the ends toward which teachers understood themselves to put discussion in the classroom. The Literature Program at Hamilton High School To contextualize the manner in which the participants in my study read and talked about graphic novels, and to gain a sense of appreciation for the literature program they experienced in their English classes, I interviewed Mr. Brian Walker, an energetic and passionate teacher who, at the time of my study, was in his third year as English department chairperson, and his thirteenth year of teaching. Additionally, I interviewed each of the participants’ English teachers, as well as two other English teachers. Due to time constraints, I was unable to observe the participants’ English classes, which constituted a limitation. In the section to follow, I draw on my interviews with faculty to: (a) construct a portrait of the literature program at Hamilton High School; (b) identify the role teachers understood discussion to play in the classroom; and (c) foreground their perceptions of graphic novels. Traditionalists and “radicals.” The English department at Hamilton High School consists of 28 teachers, five of who teach Communications, a program that falls under the language arts umbrella. In addition to Advanced Placement and International Baccalaureate classes, the English department offers a range of tracked courses, including honors (for advanced students), on-level (for students who perform at grade-level), and adjusted (for students who struggle with reading and writing, and require an “adjusted” curriculum). The department also offers electives, one of which is a film studies class. At the time of my study, Brian Walker, the department chairperson, had challenged his colleagues to wrestle with such questions as “Why do we assign the literature we assign?”
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and “Do we know what students read?” Conversations with teachers led me to conclude that the department was divided, though by no means evenly, in regard to what students ought to read, an observation that Mr. Walker confirmed. “For some teachers,” he explained, “the Great Books are the answer” (Field Notes – 5/26/09). Echoing a sentiment shared by other teachers I interviewed, he observed that certain individuals would be distraught upon learning that canonical titles would no longer be taught. Conversely, he explained that a smaller group of teachers, whom he deemed “more radical,” felt non-canonical literature ought to play a greater role in the classroom. To foster professional growth and collaboration, teachers at Hamilton High School participate in Professional Learning Communities (PLCs). Comprised of four to five individuals who teach the same course, PLCs meet on a regular basis so that teachers can assess one another’s teaching, share activities they are using in class, and develop common assessments. In the case of the English department, teachers also select the literature they intend to use with students. According to Mr. Walker, this meant that the type of literature that was taught—that is, canonical or contemporary—varied from one teacher to the next. The consensus amongst the teachers that I interviewed, however, was that the literature curriculum was for the most part canonical.2 Exactly why this was the case was subject to speculation. One teacher assumed that teachers taught the literature they read as students, an argument that is reminiscent of what Lortie (1975) refers to as an apprenticeship of 2
To be fair, there were teachers who identified contemporary works of literature when asked to list specific plays and novels they taught. For example, one had taught The Kite Runner in a junior World Literature and Composition course, and she was considering using Patrick McCormick’s The Road the following year. Another reported having taught Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried. Nevertheless, the majority of the titles teachers said they taught were canonical, and most of them appeared on a list of what Applebee (1993) found were the most frequently taught books-length works in the secondary literature curriculum. When contemporary literature or nontraditional texts were used in the classroom, it was often as satellite—or supplementary—texts designed to support the study of a canonical work.
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observation. Still another suggested that the department evinced a preference for “safe texts”—that is, texts that were easily defended as classic literature, and that were void of controversial subject matter that might give rise to protests in the larger community (Field Notes – 5/18/09). Regardless of the academic track students follow at Hamilton High School, the literature curriculum they experience remains canonical, a fact that was lamented by some of the teachers that I interviewed. Having struggled to motivate students in her adjusted classes to read the assigned literature, one teacher contemplated replacing canonical titles with more contemporary fare. She volunteered that she was amenable to the idea of using young adult literature, and she went on to say that she read VOYA and was a staunch supporter of ALAN. Nevertheless, while she recognized that freshman teachers assigned a young adult novel for summer reading, her impression was that the department generally frowned on the prospect of bringing young adult literature into the classroom. According to Mr. Walker, a smaller group of teachers in the English department argued that students ought to have opportunities to interact with a broader range of texts, including nontraditional texts. These teachers took it as their mission to help students understand that when they interacted with different forms of texts, be it movies, videogames, or popular literature, they were, in fact, reading. Though film was said to receive some attention in the English department, the teachers that I interviewed felt more could be done to broaden students’ definitions of text. One person observed that while students transacted with web-based texts on a daily basis, they were seldom acknowledged in the classroom. Another cited what she regarded as an irony—namely, that while the department sought to promote reading for pleasure, it deprived students of opportunities to connect with texts that appealed to them (Field Notes – 5/14/09).
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Asked to characterize their students’ performance as readers of literature, all of the teachers that I interviewed agreed that while students were adept at exploring issues related to characterization and character motivation, they were less likely to consider a work of literature as an aesthetic object designed to elicit a response. Capturing a sentiment shared by the group, one teacher observed that students found it difficult to transition from talking about texts in a descriptive manner (e.g., identifying instances of symbolism, theme, etc.) to talking about the rationale that appeared to guide an author’s choices. As a result, she suggested that her goal was to help them “consider issues that are related to form and function, and encourage them to think critically about the influence an author’s decisions might have on their experience reading literary texts” (Field Notes –1/26/09). Classroom discussion. The English teachers with whom I spoke considered discussion an important teaching tool, and they reported using it on a regular basis. Whether discussion took place in the context of a whole class or small groups varied in response to several issues. For example, teachers who taught sophomores in an Advanced Placement American Studies course pointed to the challenges they faced facilitating whole class discussions that involved 50 students. They consequently relied more heavily on small group discussion, and they sought to encourage students to assume responsibility for directing their own conversations. Conversely, another teacher reported that because students in her adjusted classes were prone to drift off-task when left to talk about literature in small groups, she relied more heavily on the use of whole-class discussion. Regardless of whether they made use of whole class or small group discussions, the teachers believed that the role they played in discussions steadily diminished over the course of the school year. One teacher who made use of small group discussions gave students what she called key questions, and held them accountable for answering them collaboratively
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through a process of discussion. When they finished working, individual groups were required to share their responses with the whole class. As they listened, students were encouraged to formulate questions, which—time provided—they were given an opportunity to ask. Through activities of this sort this particular teacher sought to help students assume responsibility for initiating and maintaining discussions. Asked to describe the role she envisioned herself playing in whole-class discussions, another teacher identified herself as a facilitator. However, she observed that when a discussion bogged down, or when a class was pressed for time, she adopted the role of “prompter,” a position that compelled her to pose questions that were designed to advance the discussion. Asked to describe the role students played in whole class discussions, she paused. Having thought for a moment, she suggested that if they were asked that question, students would likely describe themselves as offering up proposals. When I invited her to expand on that point, she explained that students were prone to couch their responses to literary texts in the form of a question, the result of which led her to conclude that they wanted her to validate their thoughts, thereby allowing them to avoid the risk involved in committing to a specific position. The majority of the teachers with whom I spoke shared this view. Teacher perceptions of graphic novels. Asked whether they would consider using a graphic novel in the classroom, the English teachers that I interviewed shared a range of responses. Noting that she had read Persepolis, one teacher asked my permission to speak candidly, and informed me that she “would be concerned about the ramifications of using a graphic novel in an honors level course” (Field Notes – 1/27/09). Recognizing that her reservations were potentially unfounded, she explained that, as a reader, she wanted more depth than she felt graphic novels were capable of offering. She also suggested that she
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lacked “the background knowledge needed to think and talk critically about graphic novels from the standpoint of design” (Field Notes – 1/27/09), an observation that echoed a sentiment shared by English teachers in Annett’s (2008) study. Two of the teachers that I interviewed had taught Persepolis in the past, though they did so in the context of an adjusted class. One used the graphic novel with struggling readers, and faced a number of unexpected challenges. Recalling the experience he explained: In retrospect I think my decision to use a graphic novel was based on unfounded assumptions. I assumed students would enjoy reading a graphic novel, which wasn’t necessarily the case. I also assumed that reading a graphic novel would be easy for them. It turned out that most of the kids were unfamiliar with the format, which ended up causing all kinds of problems. (Field Notes – 2/2/09) Mr. Walker, the department chairperson, shared a similar story regarding his experience teaching Persepolis in an adjusted junior World Literature and Composition course. Like his colleague, he recalled having confronted unexpected challenges. Specifically, he suggested that students were interested in understanding why a person’s face was shaded in a particular manner, or why the author chose to draw things in a particular style. To this end he felt that they focused more on the artwork than they did on what “the author was actually saying in the text,” an observation that concerned him (Field Notes – 5/26/09).3 Mr. Walker also reported that the students he taught hadn’t necessarily enjoyed the opportunity to read a graphic novel, and he recalled there having been “quite a bit of eyerolling” when he introduced the text in class (Field Notes – 5/26/09). Asked why he thought this was the case, he suggested that students who attended Hamilton High School were 3
Mr. Walker’s remark overlooks the important role images play in contributing to the development of narratives in graphic novels. From the standpoint of semiotics, a decision to make use of shading, or adopt a particular drawing style, might be thought to communicate a great deal of information. Similarly, the concept of what Barthes (1977/1983) calls “relay” is premised on an assumption that print text can extend or expand on visual information, just as visual information can expand on text and give rise to new meanings.
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accustomed to a fairly “traditional structure,” and he speculated that they expected their experiences in school to conform to a particular set of expectations, as did their parents. “People read certain things when they went to school, and in turn they expect their children to read the same things,” he explained (Field Notes – 5/26/09). Another teacher shared her belief that students were sensitive to the fact that the literature they read revealed something about their intellectual identities. She explained, “Even in the adjusted classes students realize that the books they’re asked to read say something about them to other kids” (Field Notes - 5/18/09). She assumed that this posed a challenge for teachers who embraced a more liberal definition of text and literature, and she suggested that the issue was further exacerbated by the emphasis the department placed on canonical literature. The Literature Program at the Progressive High School Literature by consensus. Because one of the students who volunteered to participate in my study attended the Progressive School, an alternative high school that is housed in Hamilton High School, it is necessary for me to describe its literature program, as well as the way his English teacher used discussion and conceived of graphic novels. As described by Jennifer Ellis, who taught English classes for Hamilton High School’s English department, as well as an English course for juniors and seniors who attended the Progressive High School, the literature program in the latter context was markedly different. She explained, for example, that whereas students in the Advanced Placement American Studies course she taught at Hamilton High School read traditional literature, students in her Progressive High School class interacted with an array of texts, including film, television shows, novels, etc. Likewise, given the school’s commitment to democratic participation, they voted on the texts they read as a group. Despite these differences, Mrs. Ellis confronted many of the obstacles her colleagues in Hamilton High School’s English department faced.
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Asked what challenges she encountered so far as literature instruction was concerned Mrs. Ellis replied, “The minute it’s a school book they don’t want to read it” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). Noting that her work in the Progressive High School led her to interact with students who struggled with authority figures and who resisted traditional approaches to education, she suggested that when they suspected a teacher was presenting them with a work of “Literature” they resisted it vigorously. On the other hand, she found that they were willing to engage with a text if it was presented as a “good book,” or if a peer recommended it. Classroom discussion. Like her colleagues in Hamilton High School’s English department, Mrs. Ellis made use of discussion on a regular basis, and in doing so she vacillated between whole-class and small group discussion depending on the size of the class she taught. Describing the role she envisioned herself playing in whole-class discussions about literature, Mrs. Ellis reported that she worked “really hard to help kids narrow in on their arguments and focus their thinking” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). After helping them make an assertion, she challenged them to “cut away at it” until they were able to pare it down and recognize the final, logical outcome of their thinking. In this sense she felt her approach to facilitating discussions approximated the Socratic method. Asked about the role students played in discussions, she suggested that her primary objective was “to reach a point at which kids are asking one another questions, and see themselves as experts in talking about books” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). Like her colleagues at Hamilton High School, Mrs. Ellis found that the students she taught at the Progressive High School were concerned with the relationships that existed between characters in literature, as well as the reasons for which they were motivated to behave in certain ways. Conversely, she found that they were less likely to conceive of a
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literary text as an aesthetic object, and think about the role its design played in shaping their response to it. As a result, she worked to draw their attention to the latter issues, and felt she was able to do so by the end of the school year, albeit with varying degrees of success. Teacher perceptions of graphic novels. Mrs. Ellis embraced a broad definition of text, and she reported using non-traditional texts in the English class she taught at the Progressive High School. She recalled having taught Persepolis, as well as Art Spiegelman’s Maus, and she suggested that students’ responses to them were mixed. On one hand she found that they enjoyed the opportunity to read a graphic novel. At the same time, however, she recalled that students struggled to “view them as books” because they were “too easy to read” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). In her opinion, students were led to think that if they took pleasure in reading a book, “it doesn’t count” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). Asked how the students fared reading a graphic novel, she indicated that she had been impressed with their ability to attend to images and take notice of slight details that escaped her notice. In the end, she felt the students had taught her something about images. Securing Access to the Research Site Spradley (1980) distinguishes between free-entry social situations, which researchers are able to enter in the absence of permission, and limited-entry social situations, which “require permission from one or more persons before conducting research” (p. 49). Recognizing that gaining entry to a limited-entry social situation entails negotiating with gatekeepers, Patton (2002) advocates using what he refers to as the “known sponsor approach,” a method that requires researchers to “use the legitimacy and credibility of another person to establish their own legitimacy and credibility” (p. 312). Because a school constitutes a limited-entry social situation, it was necessary for me to locate a sponsor who would support my efforts to situate my study at Hamilton High School. Having come to
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regard Dr. Fisher—the direct of the Learning Center, and the school’s media specialist—as an individual whose familiarity with administrators, faculty, and students rendered her a potential ally in my efforts to negotiate access to Hamilton High School, I contacted her at the start of the 2008-2009 school year and asked if she would be willing to meet and talk about a research project that I hoped to situate at the high school. We met in the Learning Center in late September, and after apprising Dr. Fisher of my theoretical and scholarly interests, I informed her that I was interested in assembling a graphic novel reading group that would consist of 6-12 sophomore and junior students who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers. Serendipitously, she was interested in understanding how secondary students read non-traditional texts (particularly digital texts), and she was consequently receptive to my project. Nevertheless, she cautioned that the majority of the high school’s students were busy with homework and extracurricular activities, and she observed that convincing them to take on an additional commitment was likely to require a strong incentive. While we were talking a member of the English department with whom I had worked in the past happened to pass by our table in the Learning Center and Dr. Fisher shared her concerns with him. Noting that the project entailed a substantial amount of reading and writing, he recommended that we offer the reading group as an independent study for which students were able to earn school credit. He went on to explain that because grades were not assigned for independent studies, students had only to fulfill their responsibilities to receive credit. Intrigued by this possibility, Dr. Fisher agreed to arrange a preliminary meeting with Mr. John Gellar, the building principal, to apprise him of my intentions, to talk with him about the possibility of making the reading group available as an independent study, and to
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identity the steps that I would need to follow in order to secure permission to conduct research in the district. Approximately one week later Dr. Fisher and I reconvened in the Learning Center, and she informed me that she had learned that building principals were responsible for granting permission to conduct research in their respective schools. As such, Mr. Gellar requested that I meet with him on a subsequent date to talk about my project in greater detail. Dr. Fisher also told me that Mr. Gellar was comfortable with the prospect of my offering the reading group as an independent study for which students could earn .25 credit hours. Recognizing that this created a potential conflict of interest, I expressed my reservations about the arrangement. However, Dr. Fisher assured me that I was neither obliged to assign grades, nor required to evaluate the participants’ performance in any way. Rather, she explained that they had only to read the assigned graphic novels and attend the reading group meetings in order to receive credit. Noting that her experience led her to conclude that students at the high school faced a heavy homework load and a full schedule of extracurricular activities, she reiterated her concern that locating volunteers who would agree to remain after-school for an extended period of time would prove difficult in the absence of a strong incentive. I consequently agreed to the arrangement, though I recognized that it constituted a potential limitation, not least because it framed the reading group as a schoolfunction. I address this point more fully when I discuss the limitations of my study in chapter five. I met with Mr. Gellar, the building principal, in late October to talk about my research project, and to obtain a letter giving me permission to conduct my study at the high school. Mr. Gellar asked several questions about my research project, and upon learning that students who agreed to participate were expected to make a substantial time commitment, he
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informed me that in addition to offering them .25 credit hours he would give them credit for completing their community service hours, a requirement that students who attend the high school are expected to complete over the summer break. Again, because this did not require me to assess the participants’ in any way, I did not regard it as a conflict of interests. Prior to my leaving, Mr. Gellar drafted and signed a letter for the university’s institutional review board giving me permission to conduct my study at the high school. Having secured access to the research site, I had next to recruit prospective participants. The Reading Group Participants Participant Recruitment Given my desire to understand how proficient readers transacted with graphic novels, I approached participant recruitment using a combination of purposeful and intensity sampling. Patton (2002) regards purposeful sampling, which entails selecting “informationrich cases whose study will illuminate the questions under study” (p. 230), as a defining characteristic of qualitative research. According to the precepts of purposeful sampling, cases are selected because they conform to a study’s underlying logic. Depending on their needs, researchers who make use of purposeful sampling choose from a range of strategies that are available to select cases. For example, researchers interested in examining cases that are of interest because they are unusual in some regard might make use of extreme—or deviant—case sampling (Patton, 2002, pp. 230-231). Because such cases represent extreme manifestations, however, Patton (2002) cautions that they have the potential to obscure one’s understanding of the subject under investigation. Another option available to researchers interested in studying cases that are unusual in some regard is to use intensity sampling, which operates according to a similar logic, albeit without the emphasis that deviant case sampling places on extremes. According to Patton
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(2002), intensity sampling involves selecting “information-rich cases that manifest the phenomenon of interest intensely (but not extremely),” and he suggests that it compels researchers to choose “excellent or rich examples of the phenomenon of interest, but not highly unusual cases” (p. 234). Again, my decision to study a specific population of readers—namely, adolescents who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers—led me to approach participant recruitment using a combination of purposeful and intensity sampling. Johnstone (2000) identifies a need to articulate the rationale behind one’s decision to work with a specific participant population, and she encourages researchers to “describe the subset of people or events on which [they] focused and why that subset is likely to shed light on the larger set of people and events in the community [they] claim to be describing” (p. 92). As explained above, my decision to work with a group of proficient readers who attended a high school with a reputation for academic excellence was born out of my desire to understand how stronger readers conceived of and experienced graphic novels as a form of reading material, thereby addressing what I recognized as a gap in the literature on graphic novels. Given that my research project took place during the second half of the school year, I was concerned that graduating seniors might lack the commitment to remain in the study throughout its duration. Conversely, I assumed that freshmen were unlikely to have appropriated the sort of critical reading practices that high school English teachers often value. As a result, I chose to work with sophomores and juniors, a population that my experiences as a high school teacher led me to conclude were similar in terms of their intellectual ability and maturity. According to Patton (2002), there are no firm rules regarding sample size in qualitative research. Rather, he suggests that sample size is dependent on “the purpose of the
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inquiry, what’s at stake, what will be useful, what will have credibility, and what can be done with available time and resources” (p. 244). Each of these factors contributed to my decision to work with 6-12 participants. Theoretically speaking, my research was premised on an assumption that individuals construct meaning in their transactions with others, and appropriate cultural practices (including literacy practices) through a process of legitimate peripheral participation (Lave & Wenger, 1991). Given my desire to avoid situating my research project in a classroom, it was necessary for me to create a context that would enable me to observe the participants’ transactions in a group of readers. By electing to work with 6-12 participants who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers, my intention was to ensure that a range of voices were represented in the reading group discussions, while at the same time safeguarding against the possible loss of participants to attrition. On a final note, I was financially prepared to purchase graphic novels and response journals for a maximum of 12 participants using a small grant that I obtained from the Assembly on Literature for Adolescents (ALAN), the result of which constrained the size of my sample population. To recruit prospective participants, I solicited help from the high school’s English teachers, and asked them to distribute copies of a recruitment letter to sophomore and junior students whom they identified as proficient readers, and whom they thought might be interested in participating in a reading group. To support me, Dr. Fisher invited me to conduct an after-school in-service for teachers interested in the educational merit of graphic novels. She suggested that such an arrangement would allow me to talk about my research project, apprise faculty of my desire to facilitate a reading group, and solicit their help in distributing copies of the recruitment letter to sophomores and juniors who satisfied the
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aforementioned criteria. I consented to do so, and on November 10th, 2008 I met with approximately 10 teachers in one of the high school’s classrooms for one hour. The term “proficient reader” is notoriously slippery and subject to debate. It conceives reading in monolithic terms, and fails to acknowledge that the quality of a reader’s transaction with a text is dependent on a host of factors, including motivation, the genre under consideration, and the stance he or she takes relative to a text. To this end O’Brien, Stewart, and Beach (2009) observe that “‘proficient’ readers are not always proficient and ‘struggling’ readers do not always struggle” (p. 81). Additionally, they argue that scores on large-scale assessments, which educators traditionally use to distinguish between proficient and struggling readers, are unreliable because they fail to acknowledge that reading is socially situated. Rather than ask the English teachers to consult standardized test scores to determine a reader’s proficiency, I instead encouraged them to reflect on their experiences working with students over the course of the school year, and in doing so to consider their transactions with a range of genres, fiction as well as non-fiction, in order to determine whether or not they regarded a particular individual as a proficient reader. Though far from perfect, this arrangement was understood to constitute an attempt on my behalf to acknowledge the problems that surround the proficiency label, while at the same time allowing me to assemble a group of participants whose competency as readers was gauged by individuals who observed their transactions with texts on a daily basis over a prolonged period of time. At the conclusion of the in-service, I distributed 40 recruitment letters to the teachers who attended (see appendix A). The letters invited students to participate in the study, and instructed them to indicate their interest in doing so by registering in the guidance office no later than December 1st. A total of eight students—six males and two females—did so.
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Unfortunately, once the reading group meetings got underway, two of them were lost to attrition. The first, a sophomore, had a role in the high school’s musical, and while he assumed that he would be able to honor both of his commitments, he discovered that the musical’s director was unwilling to let him miss two practices that coincided with the reading group meetings. A second student, also a sophomore, attended the first two meetings of the reading group, but missed the third when he traveled to an out-of-town event with his family. Although he attended the following meeting, it became apparent that he had neglected to complete either of his response journals. Following an exchange of emails, we agreed that it was best if he withdrew from the study. In the end, the reading group consisted of six participants—three sophomores and three juniors. All of them were European American; four were male, and two female. With the exception of one individual who attended the Progressive High School—which, again, constituted a school within a school—all of the participants were students at Hamilton High School. Selecting a Case Schwandt (2001) defines a case “as a specific and bounded (in time and place) instance of a phenomenon selected for study” (p. 22). Having assembled a participant population, it was necessary to determine what constituted a case. Did one participant constitute a case, or would considering the experiences of the entire group prove more advantageous? The importance of the decision I faced was underscored by Patton’s (2002) observation that “each unit of analysis implies a different kind of data collection, a different focus for the analysis of data, and a different level at which statements about findings and conclusions would be made” (p. 228).
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At the initial reading group meeting I discovered that three of the participants had extensive experience reading comic books, graphic novels, and manga, while two had some experience, and one had little to no experience. Recognizing that literacy is socially situated (Gee, 1990/1996, 2003; Heath, 1982, 1983; Street, 1984), and driven to understand whether talking about graphic novels in a group of readers had any influence on the manner in which the participants conceived of them as a form of reading material, I elected to regard the group as my case. In doing so I heeded Stake’s (2003) advice, selecting the case from which I thought I stood to learn the most. Additionally, my decision to regard the group as my case was influenced by Bloome and Egan-Robertson’s (1993) observation that in studying reading the “basic analytic unit is not the individual but the interaction of a group of people,” as “people are the context for each other” (p. 309). In the section to follow, I introduce the six high school students who agreed to participate in the reading group, and whose experiences stand at the center of my study. The Participants: Profiles and Background Information The reading group consisted of an eclectic group of individuals to say the least. Whereas some of the participants loved prose fiction, others found reading traditional novels time consuming, and expressed an affinity for other forms of material. Three of the participants were enrolled in Advanced Placement courses, one in an on-level English course, another in an adjusted English class, and one attended the Progressive High School. In spite of their differences, there were things the participants shared in common. In addition to being regarded by their English teachers as proficient readers, they shared an affinity for reading, and they took pleasure in talking about books with others. As seen in Figure 3.1, which appears on the following page, the six participants included Barry, Sarah, Hal, Bill, Hermione, and Saki.
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Name
Age
School Attended
Grade
Ethnicity/Gender
Hal
18
Progressive H.S.
11th
European-American Male
Barry
17
Hamilton H.S.
11th
European-American Male
Bill
17
Hamilton H.S.
11th
European-American Male
Saki
16
Hamilton H.S.
10th
European-American Male
Hermione
16
Hamilton H.S.
10th
European-American Female
Sarah
16
Hamilton H.S.
10th
European- American Female
Figure 3.1 – Participant Demographic Information In the sections to follow I introduce each of the six participants. Drawing on my interviews with their respective English language arts teachers, as well as my conversations with the participants, I begin by offering a description of their performance as readers. Following this I share their teachers’ perceptions of their performance in class discussions about literature. In providing this information my intention is to help readers contextualize the findings that are presented and discussed in chapter four, most notably those that pertain to the way the participants read and talked about the graphic novels they encountered in the reading group. Hal. Eighteen-years-old at the time the study took place, Hal, a junior, was the only member of the reading group who took his academic classes at the Progressive High School, a school within a school that adhered to a progressive model of education, and met in a space on the second floor of Hamilton High School. Though he enjoyed the subject matter, Hal attributed his decision to take part in the reading group to the fact that he planned to teach a lesson on comic books as part of an assignment he was required to complete for his English class. Specifically, he hoped the experience would prepare him to do so.
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Hal invariably arrived to the reading group meetings in a good mood, and he relished the opportunity to participate in conversations about books. Indeed, Mrs. Ellis, his English teacher, found it “delightful to talk with Hal about books,” and she reported that he spoke with considerable passion about books he enjoyed reading. Of course, Hal did not always enjoy the literature he read for school, and Mrs. Ellis observed that there were occasions when he appeared bored, or was unprepared for class. For Hal, reading prose fiction, especially novels, was “one of the things that takes the most time to do for schoolwork” (Individual Interview, 1, 25), and when he forgot to read a book, or when he lacked the time to do so, he chose to read “half of it on Spark Notes” (Individual Interview, 1, 27). Despite this, Mrs. Ellis regarded Hal as a strong reader who possessed the ability to look beneath the surface of a text and make insightful assertions about an author’s underlying agenda. Additionally, she regarded him as a creative reader who was able to make interesting, often unexpected, intertextual and intratextual connections. “Man, is he inventive,” she exclaimed when we met for her interview. “He’ll make crazy links, but he can always make them work” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). Given his propensity to draw links between disparate events in a text and forge what she felt were powerful affective bonds with characters, Mrs. Ellis characterized Hal as an active reader. If Mrs. Ellis perceived a shortcoming in his performance as a reader, it was that while he was capable of grasping the “big picture” an author painted, he neglected to attend to the details a close reading would yield. Though he was not the strongest participant in class discussions, Mrs. Ellis found Hal capable of offering responses that were “coherent, thought provoking, and well defended” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). Laughing, she wondered whether he always knew where he was going when he initiated a response to a text, but she found that he invariably arrived at an
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interesting point. In her opinion, discussion yielded opportunities for Hal to process his ideas verbally, and Mrs. Ellis suggested that he was willing to take risks and “think in the gray areas” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). She also appreciated Hal’s willingness to take issue with responses his classmates shared. “At times,” she explained, “he almost seems to adopt the role of a teacher in that he asks questions and challenges aspects of other students’ arguments” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). Barry. At the time of my study Barry was 17 years old and a junior at Hamilton High School. Though he had a good sense of humor, he was also serious and thoughtful, and he enjoyed wrestling with complex issues, both as a reader and as a participant in discussions. In addition to running track, Barry was a member of the high school’s film club, which occasionally met after school to view and talk about movies. According to its sponsor, who taught English at Hamilton High School, Barry presided over the club as its “unofficial” president. He had taken a film studies elective, and it was not unusual for him and Hal, Barry’s closest friend, to talk about films they had either seen or planned to see. Despite maintaining a busy schedule, Barry regarded the reading group as an opportunity to earn “credit for doing something that I like to do anyway,” and he hoped the experience would allow him “to gain some insight into why I like doing it” (Individual Interview, 6, 262-270). According to self-reports he provided, Barry was less than enthusiastic about the literature he read in his high school English classes. In his on-level junior World Literature and Composition course this included Things Fall Apart, Oedipus the King, and When the Emperor Was Divine. He especially resented the emphasis his English teachers placed on analysis, which he felt interfered with his ability to submerse himself in the world of the texts he read. “[In] those kinds of classes,” he explained, “they're like you have to analyze every
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aspect of the book, and I kind of want to read the story and enjoy the story and think about it like either while I'm reading or after I'm done” (Individual Interview, 3, 98-100). His junior English teacher, Mrs. Mayhew, considered Barry “an exceptionally strong reader” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). She explained: He’s incredibly insightful and he has a unique ability to grasp the main idea in a text early on. He’s capable of pulling out the author’s main purpose, and he can use it to support his thoughts about the work and make different kinds of connections as he reads. (Field Notes – 5/18/09) In the context of class discussions, Mrs. Mayhew found Barry capable of asking “deeply thoughtful questions” about the literature he read, and she suggested that he evinced a willingness to work through those questions. “If Barry has a question about some aspect of a text,” she explained, “he’ll sit there with his hand up waiting for me to get to him regardless of whether the class has moved on or not” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). Intellectually, she felt he was capable of competing with the most talented members of the junior class, and she lamented his decision not to take an Advanced Placement English course that was available to juniors. According to Mrs. Mayhew, Barry appreciated the opportunity to talk about literature in class. “If he had his way,” Mrs. Mayhew explained, “we’d come to class everyday and talk for the whole period about the literature we read without ever doing any kind of writing” (Field Notes – 5/18/09). She regarded Barry as an active participant in discussions, one who was capable of sharing insightful comments, and who genuinely enjoyed talking about literature. As a member of the reading group Barry was deeply contemplative, and he listened attentively to what his fellow group members had to say during the discussions. Consistent with his teacher’s observations, he was also an active participant in the discussions. He was willing to challenge responses with which he
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disagreed, and he was comfortable with the prospect of having his arguments critiqued by others. As a conversant, Barry was supportive of the other members of the group, and he often asked them questions and picked up on aspects of their thinking. Saki. Tall and lanky with dark brown hair and glasses, Saki would likely impress those who met him for the first time as a typical high school student. If the other members of the reading group were animated and loquacious, he was initially somewhat shy. As time passed, however, and as he grew more comfortable with me and the other members of the group, Saki became a regular participant in the reading group discussions, and there was little doubt that his peers valued his contributions and respected his intellect. Barry, for example, observed, “It's interesting because Saki seems like a really quiet person that you really wouldn't get a lot out of, but he's really vocal at the meetings and he really knows how to express what he wants to say” (Individual Interview, 19, 863-866). Hermione, a fellow participant in the study, put the matter more succinctly: “I’ve been in class with him two years now and I’m just, I mean I always, automatically when he says something I just tune in ‘cause I know, I usually expect it to be pretty good” (Individual Interview, 13, 549-551). Like the other members of the group, Saki enjoyed reading for pleasure, and he held books in high regard. “I read prolifically,” he explained, “both fiction and non-fiction. I’m very interested in books, literature, and writing in general” (Reading Interest Survey, 6, #31). He also regarded himself as a member of what he characterized as “a reading family” (Individual Interview, 5, 184). Though he enjoyed novels and had read several in the past year, Saki indicated that a heavy homework load made it difficult for him to find time to read for pleasure during the school year. Saki was taking Advanced Placement American Studies at the time of my study. He had Mrs. Elliot for a teacher, and there was little doubt that she held him in high regard, both
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as a person and as a student. So far as his schoolwork was concerned, she characterized Saki as a careful and methodical student who was willing to invest himself in the assignments he was given. Noting that he required additional time to complete his written assignments, she went on to say that his performance as a reader was extraordinary. She was particularly impressed by his ability to make interesting intratextual connections, an aspect of his performance that she felt surpassed that of his classmates. Mrs. Elliot described Saki as a strong participant in class discussions as well. She characterized the arguments he made as “incredibly concise,” and she found that he was capable of presenting “his thoughts in a lucid manner” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). She also found Saki willing to play with ideas, and she observed that he was comfortable “thinking outside the box” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). Whereas she suspected that it was necessary for other students to grasp an idea in its entirety before they were willing to share it publicly, she found that Saki was willing to use language as a vehicle with which to explore and develop his thoughts. Attesting to the power of his intellect, she echoed a comment Hermione shared: “Whenever he opens his mouth to speak he has the full attention of his classmates, as well as myself” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). Bill. Blonde with blue eyes and a slender build, Bill was a soft-spoken, warmhearted individual whose interests were—to say the least—eclectic. Like Hal, he had taken a number of art classes, and he expressed an affinity for ceramics, painting and drawing. He was also a musician, and he often arrived to the reading group meetings carrying an array of instruments, including a guitar, a drum, and, on one occasion, a ukulele. Asked whether he intended to pursue a career in the arts, Bill responded in the negative. Instead, he noted that his father bred and sold reptiles, and he articulated his desire to enter the field of herpetology. For Bill, the opportunity to participate in the reading group presented a chance for
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him to fill time and explore a subject that interested him. “I stopped doing crew winter of my freshman year,” he explained, “and I’ve been trying to get more active and into extracurricular activities” (Individual Interview, 19, 862-863). So long as an activity allowed him to pass time and interested him, he was amenable to participating in it. He viewed reading as such an activity, and he estimated that he spent more than three hours a week reading for pleasure. Most of his time was spent reading novels, and in the past year he recalled having read several books by Stephen King, including Firestarter, The Shining, and Insomnia. Like Barry, Bill had Mrs. Mayhew for his junior World Literature and Composition course, and she lamented his decision to enroll in an adjusted section. As a reader and thinker, she felt he was capable of succeeding in an on-level class. At the same time, she recognized that Bill lacked the work ethic needed to keep pace with the heavy homework load he would encounter in such a course. Though she found him unwilling to invest himself in his written work, Mrs. Mayhew characterized Bill as “a wonderful reader” who was capable of making creative connections and constructing imaginative interpretations in his transactions with literature. She also characterized him as a “voracious reader,” and she suggested that she was impressed by his willingness to experiment with a range of books. As a conversant, Mrs. Mayhew found Bill capable of asking profound questions about the literature he read, and she characterized him as someone who was confident in his ability to draw conclusions and articulate them in the context of discussions. Nevertheless, she was surprised to discover that he was an active participant in the reading group discussions, and she suggested that he occasionally struck her as being disengaged in class. Attributing this to his decision to take an adjusted course she explained, “He reads at a much faster rate than the other students in the class, and because the pace is rather limited in the
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adjusted class, he’s often well beyond the issues we happen to be exploring at a particular point in time” (Field Notes – 5/14/09). Throughout the study Bill proved to be an active and enthusiastic participant. He was invariably the first to arrive to the reading group meetings, and he enjoyed talking about the graphic novels with the other participants. He continued to carry the graphic novels we read in his backpack long after we’d finished them, and he routinely shared new insights he gained as a result of re-reading them. In fact, I found him willing to read graphic novels beyond those that I used in the study. To prepare the participants to complete the response journals, I distributed copies of an excerpt from a graphic novel that did not appear on the assigned reading list. Two weeks later, Bill returned having checked the book out from the library and read it in its entirety. Hermione. Though she had only recently turned 16, Hermione exhibited a sense of maturity that surpassed her years. She was socially conscious, and she expressed an interest in a range of issues, not least of which was the environment. Her father was a political science professor at a small liberal arts college in Central Ohio, and her mother taught sociology courses at a nearby community college. For her part, Hermione took a number of advanced placement classes at Hamilton High School, participated in fencing, and was a member of the track team. To suggest that Hermione was a voracious reader fails to capture the situation. The list of works she identified herself as having read in the past year was, to say the least, epic. Comprised of canonical as well as contemporary literature, and fiction as well as nonfiction, it included: The Audacity of Hope, Breaking Dawn, White Fang, Angels and Demons, Wuthering Heights, What is the What, Lord of the Rings, Tales of Beedle the Bard, Brisingr,
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The House of the Scorpion, and Gorillas in the Mist. Asked to account for her penchant for reading Hermione explained: I mean it's just fun to me and there's hardly a book that I haven't found like that I don't find interesting… And there's a lot of things I'll do, like watching T.V. or like being on the computer, where I can just like kill time. But I mean whenever I read it just, it never feels like to me that I wasted it. (Individual Interview, 1, 32-41) Like Saki, Hermione had Mrs. Elliot for Advanced Placement American Studies. For her part, Mrs. Elliot characterized Hermione as an “an exceptional reader who possesses a deep, deep interest in literature” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). She found her capable of exploring and critically examining the multiple layers of the texts she read, and she suggested that her willingness to play with ideas set her apart from her peers. Mrs. Elliot also found that Hermione evinced a genuine sense of intellectual curiosity, and she characterized her as someone who “approached her reading as if she was operating out of a sense of duty” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). Asked to expand on that point, Mrs. Elliot explained that Hermione “consumed books as if she were on a quest to learn as much as she could in the time she had” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). As a participant in class discussions, Mrs. Elliot found that Hermione was “not someone who leaped into discussions without having something to say” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). She considered this a strength, but recognized that it also constituted a potential limitation. She suggested that when Hermione did participate in discussions, her arguments were “exceptionally lucid and well supported using textual evidence” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). Nevertheless, she sensed that Hermione was reluctant to share her thoughts if she hadn’t had time to work through them in advance, and she suspected that she lacked confidence in her intellectual abilities. Still, she observed that in small group discussions, Hermione was prone to assume a leadership position, and was seldom intimidated by her male classmates, an
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observation that proved true of her experiences in the reading group as well. With the exception of the fourth meeting, when she was ill and remained unusually quiet, Hermione contributed to the reading group discussions on a regular basis. She had an uncanny ability to empathize with the characters she read about, an observation that Mrs. Elliot shared, and which she interpreted as a “sign of a fairly mature reader” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). Sarah. A member of the girl’s soccer team and an honor student, Sarah was a socialite who, by all accounts, was popular with her classmates. Sixteen-years-old at the time of the study, she was self-confident, and somewhat precocious. Her mother was a teacher, and comments Sarah shared led me to conclude that her family created opportunities for her to enrich her intellectual life. Her parents were members of the Weston Arts Center, and Sarah occasionally accompanied them to independent films and gallery shows. As a result, she was able to talk about an exhibit of Andy Warhol’s work that she had seen, or a show that focused on the work of Jeff Smith, author of the graphic novel Bone. At the same time, Sarah was a down-to-earth person, and there were several occasions when she evinced a willingness to laugh at her own expense. Like Saki and Hermione, Sarah took an Advanced Placement American Studies class, although she was in a different section. Her English teacher, Mrs. Elliot, characterized her as a “social butterfly,” and suggested that Sarah’s gregarious nature occasionally led to problems in class. Nevertheless, she regarded Sarah as a talented student and “a voracious reader with a huge appetite for pretty much anything” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). According to Sarah, she generally enjoyed the literature she read in school, much of which was canonical fiction, and she regarded it as a vehicle for growth and self-improvement. Noting that she maintained a busy schedule, Sarah felt she had little time for reading, and she did not regard herself as “a pleasure reader per se” (Individual Interview, 1, 36-37).
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Whereas the other participants claimed to spend more than three hours a week reading for pleasure, Sarah estimated that she spent somewhere between two and three hours. When she did find time to read outside of school, her preference was for non-fiction, which seemed to compliment her view of reading as a purpose-driven activity. She explained: I kind of like reading and learning factual things instead of getting indulged into like a fiction story kind of thing. And so I think that's why I usually tend to go to nonfiction, because I learn a lot about like his-- history. I really like history and nonfiction and I feel like I learn more from that than just a fiction old story. Like a novel. (Individual Interview, 1-2, 37-47) So long as it interested her, Sarah was willing to read prose fiction, and she recalled having read Pale Fire, Breakfast of Champions, and Sense and Sensibility in the past year. Still, non-fiction remained her true love. According to Mrs. Elliot, Sarah was capable of offering thoughtful and insightful observations during class discussions. As a caveat, however, she added that she found Sarah willing to take part in discussions “provided that they interest her” (Field Notes – 5/5/09). Although Sarah was an active participant in the reading group discussions, and although she maintained thoughtful and detailed response journals, there were occasions when I sensed that that she was not as invested in the reading group as were the other participants. She was the only person who missed a meeting—she attended a funeral when the group met for the fourth time, and she missed the final whole-group interview—and while she was inevitably friendly, she didn’t seem to embrace the other members of the group to the extent that they did one another. Whereas they lingered to talk long after the reading group meetings ended, Sarah was typically the first to leave. It should be noted, however, that my assessment of the situation was based on my own personal observations, and in her individual interview and summative journal Sarah—who was not averse to sharing her opinions freely—consistently reported having enjoyed the experience.
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Design of the Reading Group and Selection of Texts The Meeting Site As it is used here, the term “reading group” is not understood to refer to a set of pedagogical practices used to scaffold students’ conversations about literature, as, for example, are constructs such as Book Club (McMahon, 1991; Raphael & McMahon, 1994) and Literature Circles (Daniels, 1994; Short & Pierce, 1990). Rather, it is used in a more generic sense, and is understood to refer to a collection of individuals who volunteered to meet after school with the intention of engaging in informal conversations about a series of graphic novels they agreed to read as a group. Beginning in January 2009, the reading group met on a bi-weekly basis, and assembled seven times over a period of 17 weeks. The meetings took place on Tuesday afternoons in a small classroom in the Learning Center that Dr. Fisher and her staff used for instructional purposes. Rather than desks, the Learning Center classroom contained a series of long tables, each of which was able to accommodate three students on either side. Arriving thirty minutes early on days when the reading group met, I pushed the majority of the tables against the rear wall, reserving two, which I subsequently placed side-by-side to create a single large table positioned just offcenter in the room. This arrangement reflected my desire to construct a comfortable atmosphere that was conducive to conversation. It also ensured that when the participants arrived and took their seats in the padded chairs I positioned around the tables they were able to maintain eye contact with one another as they talked. Recognizing that they were likely to be hungry following a long school day, I purchased pizzas, drinks, and snacks for each meeting, and arranged them on a table that was situated to the left of the one at which the participants sat. Prior to the start of a meeting visitors to the Learning Center classroom might consequently expect to find the participants
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and myself seated at the tables eating and talking amiably with one another about movies we had seen, books we had read, or general goings-on in the world, the result of which gave the sessions a relaxed, convivial feel that, over time, played a role in leading the participants to band together as a group. Role of the Researcher Participant observation, wherein a researcher becomes “at least partially socialized into the group under study to understand the nature, purpose, and meaning of some social action that takes place there” (Schwandt, 2001, p. 186), was of critical importance to this investigation. According to Spradley (1980), the participant observer enters “a social situation with two purposes: (1) to engage in activities appropriate to the situation, and (2) to observe the activities, people, and physical aspects of the situation” (p. 54). Recognizing that it is possible to engage in the activities one is studying to varying degrees, Spradley (1980) argues that participant observation is best understood as a continuum that ranges from nonparticipation, wherein researchers have no direct involvement in the activities under investigation, to complete participation, in which they “study a situation in which they are already ordinary participants” (p. 61). Toward the center of the participant observation continuum is what Spradley (1980) deems moderate participation, which requires a researcher to maintain a “balance between being an insider and an outsider, between participation and observation” (p. 60). Given that I had 12 years experience teaching high school English, I was neither a stranger to the culture of school, nor to the tacit knowledge needed to take part in discussions about literature. Nevertheless, I was an outsider at Hamilton High School in that I was neither a member of the faculty, nor familiar with the building’s day-to-day routines and workings. Likewise, while I assumed responsibility for facilitating the reading group meetings, which situated me
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as an active participant in the discussions, I did so with the intention of observing—and, ultimately, understanding—how the participants conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, and how they read and talked about them with other readers. For these reasons the concept of moderate participation (Spradley, 1980) accurately captures the role that I occupied throughout the study. As explained in chapter two, a growing number of scholars have expressed an interest in studying adolescents’ literacy practices in after-school programs and out-of-school settings (Alvermann et al., 1999; Hull & Nelson, 2005; Hull & Schultz, 2002). Having worked with adolescents who met in a public library to talk about texts they read in “Read & Talk Clubs,” Alvermann et al. (1999) found that while the “activity occurred outside the formal context of schooling, club members’ practices were shaped by the larger institutional (e.g., school) and societal discourses that constituted them and through which they were interpreted” (p. 249). The reading group that I constructed neither met in a school context (given that the meetings took place after school hours), nor in an out-of-school context (given that the group met in a classroom in Hamilton High School’s Learning Center). Instead, it was located somewhere between the two in what Nichols (2008) calls an “of-school space” (p. 132). Still, like Alvermann et al. (1999), I, too, discovered that the discourse of school shaped the behavior of the participants. Early in the study I naively assumed that it would be possible for me to abandon my status as an authority figure and locate myself as a participant in the reading group discussions. I quickly discovered, however, that while the participants did not necessarily regard me as a teacher, they positioned me as a teacher-like figure. Though I invited them to use my first name when they addressed me, I immediately sensed that the prospect of doing so made them uncomfortable. As such I told them that they were welcome to refer to me as
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“Mr. Connors” if doing so made them comfortable. With the exception of Barry, the remaining five participants referred to me using the latter term throughout the study. At the same time I found that there were aspects of school discourse that got reinscribed in the context of the reading group. When we first started talking about the graphic novels there was a tendency for the participants to raise their hands to let me know they had something to contribute, a practice that is referred to as turn taking (Cazden, 1988), and one that is associated with classroom discussions over which teachers wield control. When this happened I reminded the participants that they were not in a classroom, that I did not regard myself as a teacher, and that I wanted them to view the discussions as the kind of informal conversations that occur when people get together to talk about books. With time, the practice of hand-raising dissipated considerably, and the participants increasingly assumed responsibility for managing their turns. As Cazden (1988) predicted, this shift led the discussions to assume a more conversational tone. Criteria for Selecting Graphic Novels To select four graphic novels for use in the reading group, I adhered to three criteria: (a) as a former high school English teacher I recognized a need to select graphic novels that I assumed teachers could plausibly use in a classroom with high school students, and that I sensed had the potential to inspire substantive discussions; (b) I was motivated to select graphic novels that a professional organization made up of literacy educators suggested would appeal to teenagers; and (c) given my desire to understand how high school students navigate the semiotic resources they encounter in graphic novels, I recognized a need to select texts that made use of comics conventions in different ways. These criteria are examined more closely in the sections to follow.
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Potential for use in the classroom. As noted above, I was motivated to select graphic novels that I assumed high school teachers could plausibly use in a classroom with students. Having taught high school English for 12 years, I selected graphic novels that my experiences as a classroom teacher led me to believe students would enjoy reading. Additionally, I selected texts that I assumed had the potential to inspire substantive discussions. To gauge my estimations of them, I piloted each of the graphic novels that I employed in my study in a young adult literature course that I taught for undergraduates who were potentially interested in pursuing a career in education. In addition to eliciting positive responses from the students, I found that each of the four graphic novels inspired thoughtful whole class discussions. Recognition by a professional organization. To support my evaluation of their suitability for use with a teenage audience, I elected to choose graphic novels that a professional community of literacy educators suggested were likely to appeal to adolescents. In the end, three of the four graphic novels that I selected appeared on the Young Adult Library Services Association’s (henceforth YALSA) list of “Great Graphic Novels for Teens.” The fourth, which was published before the organization began to acknowledge graphic novels as a separate category, appeared on the group’s list of “Best Books for Young Adults.” According to the organization’s web site, texts that appear on YALSA’s (2010) list of “Great Graphic Novels for Teens” are recommended for readers between the ages of twelve and eighteen, and are selected for their “proven or potential appeal to the personal reading tastes of teens” (Policies and Procedures, para. 2). Textual variation. Researchers concerned with understanding how high school students read and respond to graphic novels have shown surprisingly little regard for textual variation in the design of their studies. As indicated by the literature review that I provided
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in chapter two, the participants in Martin’s (1992) study read only Classics Illustrated comic books, which retell canonical narratives in comic book form, while the participants in Hammond’s (2009) study read only one graphic novel, which overlooks the influence textual variation is likely to have on response. To account for this, I chose to select graphic novels that evinced diversity, both in terms of genre, and in their use of comics and artistic conventions. The titles of the four graphic novels that I selected to use in the study, coupled with a brief description of their treatment of artistic and comics conventions, are provided in the section to follow. Graphic Novels Selected for Use in the Study Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood. A memoir written and drawn by Marjane Satrapi (2003), Persepolis recounts the author’s experiences as a young girl who came of age amidst Iran’s Islamic Revolution, and bore witness to her country’s decade-long war with Iraq. Having inherited her family’s leftist political views, and wanting to define herself as an individual, Marji finds herself at odds with authority figures, particularly those who subscribe to the government’s fundamentalist ideology. Despite its treatment of mature subject matter, Persepolis is ultimately a story about the power of hope and the resiliency of the human spirit. On those occasions when I used the graphic novel with undergraduates in a young adult literature course, it proved quite popular and inspired thoughtful discussions. Published before YALSA acknowledged graphic novels as a separate category, Persepolis appeared on the organization’s list of “Best Books for Young Adults” in 2004. As a cartoonist, Satrapi (2003) employs a relatively simple drawing style. Images are flat and two-dimensional, and they are rendered in black and white. So far as their shape is concerned, panels are generally rectangular, and they seldom vary in terms of their size. Page layouts are easily navigated, and, like a traditional text, they require readers to move
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from left-to-right, top to bottom with few exceptions. Finally, the perspective from which Satrapi (2003) chooses to reveal events remains relatively consistent throughout the graphic novel. Images are depicted using a combination of middle-distance and close-up shots, and figures are generally revealed from a horizontal angle. Unlike graphic novels that fall within the realm of the superhero genre, there is little action in Persepolis. Instead, characters are depicted talking to one another. Of the four graphic novels the participants read, Persepolis is arguably the most text heavy. Night Fisher. Written and drawn by R. Kikuo Johnson (2005), Night Fisher is an example of realist fiction. It tells the story of Loren Foster, a senior in high school whose seemingly idyllic existence in a Hawaiian paradise is belied by his deteriorating relationship with Shane, a close friend whose use of drugs has caused him to grow distant. Having left the East Coast six years earlier to move to Hawaii with his father, Loren sees himself as an outsider. To salvage his friendship with Shane, Loren chooses to begin experimenting with drugs, the result of which causes him to descend into a life of petty crime to support his habit. Although not as popular as the other graphic novels, undergraduates generally responded favorably to Night Fisher, which, like Persepolis, provoked thoughtful discussions. Night Fisher appeared on YALSA’s list of “Great Graphic Novels for Teens” in 2007. Artistically speaking, Johnson’s (2005) artwork is exquisite. His heavy use of black ink, coupled with his tendency to shroud his characters in shadows, effectively communicates the sense of foreboding that marks his protagonist’s descent into darkness. The panels in Night Fisher are generally rectangular, and page layouts are easy to navigate. However, Johnson does manipulate the size of the panels he uses, and he occasionally plays with the visual design of typography in a manner that allows him to create the illusion of sound in the narrative. Finally, he makes use of conventions that are associated with cinematography in a
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manner that Persepolis does not. He frequently shifts between long-distance, middledistance, and close-up shots, and he employs a combination of vertical and horizontal angles to manipulate the perspective from which characters are revealed. Pride of Baghdad. Whereas the other graphic novels that I used in the study represented the vision of a single cartoonist, Pride of Baghdad constitutes a collaborative effort. Written by Brian K. Vaughan and drawn by Niko Henrichon (2006), it tells the story of four lions that are set free when the United States military inadvertently bombs a zoo in Baghdad while conducting an air raid in the run-up to the Second Persian Gulf War. As the lions roam the city, they encounter other animals that have been displaced by the war, each of which shares their perspectives on it with them. In addition to examining the cost of war from the vantage point of noncombatants, Pride of Baghdad, which constitutes an allegory, invites readers to interrogate the concept of freedom. Specifically, it challenges them to ask whether freedom can be given to others, or whether it is something they must earn for themselves. On those occasions when I used the graphic novel with undergraduates, its treatment of mature (and timely) subject matter gave rise to heated discussions that led students to wrestle with complex questions. In 2007, YALSA identified Pride of Baghdad as one of its “Top Ten Graphic Novels for Teens.” Whereas Persepolis and Night Fisher are rendered in black and white, the images in Pride of Baghdad appear in color. Far from decorative, color performs a specific function in the narrative, often serving to create a sense of mood. Throughout the graphic novel the design of panel borders, which are generally rendered using straight lines, remains stable. Panel sizes, however, vary considerably, ranging from thumbnails to splash pages (Eisner, 1985). Like Night Fisher, Pride of Baghdad relies heavily on conventions that are associated with cinematography. Images are depicted from horizontal as well as vertical
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angles, and figures are revealed using a combination of long-distance, middle-distance, and close-up shots. Of the four graphic novels, Pride of Baghdad is arguably the least text-heavy. Likewise, its design mirrors mainstream comics to an extent that the other graphic novels do not. Laika. Written and drawn by Nick Abadzis (2007), Laika constitutes an example of historical-fiction, and examines the ethicality of a decision made by officials in the Russian space program to launch a rocket carrying the first known living creature—a small dog named Laika—into space. Under intense political pressure to commemorate the anniversary of the October Revolution with a manned rocket launch, yet unprepared to ensure the capsule’s safe return, the scientists knowingly send Laika to her death. Blending fact and fiction, Abadzis (2007) examines their decision to do so from the perspectives of three characters: Korolev, a former political prisoner who climbed to the top of Russia’s space program; Yelena, a young lab assistant entrusted with the responsibility of caring for Laika; and Laika herself. When I used Laika with undergraduates, it proved popular, and inspired discussions that ranged from a concern with animal rights to a debate over the question of destiny and free will. Artistically, Laika is arguably the most daring of the four graphic novels in its use of artistic and comics conventions. Abadzis (2007) uses color not only to establish mood, but also to reveal information about his characters’ affective states. Likewise, he varies the size of the panels he uses, and makes use of physical space to convey information about the relationships that exist between characters. Feelings of intimacy, for example, are revealed by situating characters in a close space, while emotional distance might be signaled by situating characters at opposite ends of a panel that spans the width of a page. In addition to manipulating panel size, Abadzis (2007) varies the design of panel borders to convey
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meaning. Wavy lines are used to represent dream sequences, or signal the use of flashbacks. In some instances panels are drawn as rectangles, while at other times they assume the shape of circles. On some occasions panel borders disappear altogether so that characters exist on the white space of a page. Like Persepolis, Laika is relatively text heavy, though, as the preceding discussion indicates, it allows images to shoulder the narrative load as well. Reading Group Schedule The reading group met seven times between January and May 2009. In addition, I interviewed each of the participants on an individual basis at the study’s midway point, and spoke with their respective English teachers, as well as two additional English teachers, the department chairperson, and the director of the high school’s Learning Center. Figure 3.2 identifies the dates on which the reading group met, as well as the activities that took place at each respective meeting. Date of Meeting
Activities Administered reading interest survey Semi-structured whole group interview Semi-structured whole group interview Administered directions for response journals Discussed Persepolis Collected response journals Responded to “Parting Shot” questions Discussed Night Fisher Collected response journals Responded to “Parting Shot” questions Discussed Pride of Baghdad Collected response journals Responded to “Parting Shot” questions Individual semi-structured interviews
Meeting #1 - January 20, 2009 Meeting #2 - February 3, 2009 Meeting #3 - February 17, 2009 Meeting #4 - March 3, 2009 Meeting #5 - March 31, 2009 April 6 – 8, 2009
Discussed Laika Collected response journals Responded to “Parting Shot” questions Administered directions for summative journal Semi-structured whole group interview Collected summative journals
Meeting #6 - April 21, 2009
Meeting #7 - May 12, 2009
Figure 3.2 – Reading Group Schedule and Activities
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At the inaugural meeting of the reading group, which took place on January 20th, the participants completed a reading interest survey that consisted of 31 questions, and was designed to yield information about their attitudes toward reading, their reading preferences, their experiences reading prose fiction, both at home and in school, and their experiences reading comic strips, comic books, and graphic novels. The remainder of the meeting took the form of a semi-structured whole group interview (Fontana & Frey, 1994) that invited the participants to share their personal definitions of literature, talk about their experiences reading comic books and graphic novels, and share their conceptions of them as a form of reading material. Though I made use of a protocol, I reserved the right to pursue issues of interest that arose in the course of the interview. Having transcribed the initial interview in its entirety, I arrived at the second reading group meeting, which took place on February 3rd, with a list of additional questions that I intended to explore with the participants. I opened the meeting by facilitating a second semistructured whole group interview (Fontana & Frey, 1994), which lasted approximately twenty minutes. Having brought the interview to a close, I introduced the participants to the response journals they were expected to maintain as they read each of the assigned graphic novels. To conclude the meeting I distributed the first graphic novel the group was scheduled to read, along with copies of the corresponding response journal. The following four meetings—which took place respectively on February 17th, March 3rd, March 31st, and April 21st—are best characterized as having assumed the form of book club discussions.4 Specifically, they gave the participants an opportunity to respond to the 4
To account for interruptions to the school schedule, Dr. Fisher and I consulted the school district’s calendar when we met to select the dates on which the reading group would meet. Though my intention was for the reading group to meet on a bi-weekly basis, there was an extended gap between the fourth meeting (which took place on March 3rd) and the fifth meeting (which took place on March 31st). During that time the high school was closed for a week due to
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graphic novels they read in the context of informal conversations. To get the discussion underway I posed an open-ended question—for example, “What are we supposed to make of this book?” Though I continued to ask questions after that point, the majority of them used uptake (Nystrand et al., 1997) to follow up on observations the participants shared. Beyond that, I made a concerted effort to allow the participants to assume responsibility for directing the flow of the discussions. With approximately five minutes remaining in a meeting, I brought the discussion to a close and invited the participants to open their response journals and, below their last entry, record the phrase “Parting Shots.” When they had done so, I posed one or two open-ended questions that I had been led to recognize either as a result of having observed the discussion, or having transcribed the previous week’s meeting. Following this the participants composed their responses to the questions, which were relevant to the research questions my study sought to address. The only exception to the aforementioned pattern occurred on April 21st. Having posed the “Parting Shot” questions and collected their journals, I distributed copies of a summative journal the participants were expected to complete and submit at the final reading group meeting. Specifically, the directions for the activity invited them to reflect on their experiences in the reading group and share their thoughts about the graphic novels they read, the discussions in which they took part, and their conceptions of graphic novels as a form of reading material. Foregrounding limitations involved in conducting whole group interviews, Fontana and Frey (1994) observe that the “emerging group culture may interfere with individual expression” (p. 365). To avoid this problem, and to create an opportunity for the participants spring break. The week before that was devoted to state testing. Recognizing that the three sophomores in the study were required to take the mandated assessments, I was reluctant to assign them additional work or hold them after school, and so I chose not to meet that week.
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to share their thoughts in the absence of any pressure the larger group might exert, I opted to interview each of them on an individual basis—either during the school day or immediately after—between April 6th and April 8th. Like the whole group interviews, the individual interviews were semi-structured (Fontana & Frey, 1994). Although some of the questions that I asked remained consistent from one interview to the next, others varied, a result of my desire to make use of theoretical sampling (Strauss & Corbin, 1998) and pursue issues that were relevant to particular individuals. On May 12th the reading group met for the final time. The meeting took the form of a third semi-structured whole group interview (Fontana & Frey, 1994), and I asked a series of questions that were designed to generate conversation regarding the participants’ conceptions of the time they spent in the study. In some cases the questions that I asked echoed those I raised in the first whole group interview, a result of my desire to determine whether the manner in which the participants conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material had undergone any degree of change. With the exception of Sarah, who missed the fourth meeting to attend a funeral, and who was absent for the final whole group interview, the remaining participants attended all seven of the reading group meetings. All of the participants completed and submitted the written artifacts that I collected along the way. These included response journals, a summative journal, reading interest surveys, and responses to open-ended questions—which I again called “Parting Shots”—that were posed following each of the four reading group discussions. In the section to follow, I review the specific procedures that were used to collect data, and present the data set that was used to address each of the four research questions that my study sought to address.
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Data and Data Collection Procedures Recognizing that “no single method can grasp all of the subtle variations in ongoing human experience,” Denzin and Lincoln (2003) encourage qualitative researchers to “deploy a wide range of interconnected interpretive methods, always seeking better ways to make more understandable the worlds of experience they have studied” (p. 31). To understand how the six individuals who took part in this study conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, what semiotic resources they drew on as they read them, and what, if any, influence talking about them in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group had on the way they thought about graphic novels, I collected data using methods that Patton (2002) suggests are characteristic of qualitative research. Specifically, data were collected using whole group and individual semi-structured interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994), as well as observations of the reading group meetings. Additionally, written artifacts—namely, reading interest surveys, response journals, summative journals, and responses to open-ended questions that were posed following discussions of the graphic novels the participants read— were collected. At the study’s conclusion the data corpus consisted of: •
completed copies of a reading interest survey that was designed to yield information about the participants’ attitudes toward reading, their experiences reading and talking about literature in their high school English classes, and their experience reading graphic novels and comic books;
•
three semi-structured whole group interviews, each of which was transcribed in its entirety;
•
semi-structured individual interviews with each participant, each of which was transcribed in its entirety;
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•
four whole group discussions, each of which focused on one of the graphic novels the participants read, and was transcribed in its entirety;
•
response journals the participants maintained as they read each of the four graphic novels;
•
responses to open-ended questions that were posed at the conclusion of the four whole group discussions;
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summative journals in which the participants reflected on their experiences in the reading group discussions and shared their perceptions of the assigned graphic novels;
•
field notes that were composed immediately after the reading group meetings and individual interviews;
•
field notes that were written following interviews with the participants’ English teachers, as well as with the English department chairperson, two additional English teachers, and the director of the high school’s Learning Center.
Figure 3.3, which appears on the following page, presents the data set as it related to each of the four research questions. The procedures that were followed to collect data, and the individual data sources, are addressed in greater detail in the sections to follow.
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Research Question 1) What are high school students’ experiences reading graphic novels, and how do they conceive of them as a form of reading material? 2) What semiotic resources do high school students draw on as they read graphic novels, and in what ways do they work with them? 3) How do high school students talk about graphic novels in the context of an after-school reading group?
4) To what extent, if at all, do high school students’ conceptions of graphic novels change as they are given opportunities to read and talk about them in the context of a voluntary afterschool reading group?
Data Set - Reading interest surveys - Transcripts of first two whole-group semistructured interviews - Transcripts of individual semi-structured interviews - Field notes - Response journals - Transcripts of reading group discussions - Transcripts of individual semi-structured interviews - Field notes - Transcripts of reading group discussions - Transcripts of individual semi-structured interviews - Transcript of final whole group semistructured interview - Summative journals - Field notes - Transcripts of individual semi-structured interviews - Responses to “Parting Shot” questions - Transcript of the final whole group semistructured interview - Summative journals - Field notes
Figure 3.3 - Research Questions and Corresponding Data Set Data Sources Reading interest survey. Creswell (2002/2005) observes that researchers who wish to “learn about individual attitudes, opinions, beliefs, and practices” might choose to make use of a survey instrument in their research design (p. 377). Faced with a need to familiarize myself with the participants’ reading interests in order to contextualize my study, I administered a reading interest survey at the start of the first reading group meeting (see appendix B). The survey made use of a combination of demographic, closed-ended, and open-ended questions, and was based loosely on a set of reading interest surveys that were published in Purves’s (1973) Literature Education in Ten Countries.
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The survey was designed to examine the participants’ experiences with literature in academic as well as non-academic settings; their attitudes toward reading; the frequency with which they read for pleasure; and their preferred forms of reading material. Additionally, it included a series of questions that were intended to explore the extent of their experience reading comic strips, comic books, and graphic novels. In all, the survey consisted of 31 questions, and took the participants approximately 20 minutes to complete. Semi-structured whole group interviews. Though observation constitutes a valuable research tool, it is characterized by limitations, the most notable being that researchers are unable to observe what Kvale (1996) calls the “life world” of their participants—that is, their thoughts, feelings, and intentions. Given that my case study sought to “understand the themes of the lived daily world from the subjects’ own perspectives” (Kvale, 1996, p. 27), I elected to incorporate whole-group interviews that were designed to probe the participants’ conceptions of graphic novels in my research design. Noting that interviews can assume different forms, Bogdan and Biklen (1982) argue that whole group interviews constitute an effective way to gain access to subjective perspectives. Likewise, Fontana and Frey (1994) characterize whole group interviews as offering the distinct advantage of being “stimulating to respondents, recall aiding, and cumulative and elaborating, over and above individual responses” (p. 365). By interviewing the participants as a whole group early in the study, I hoped to put them at ease, both with myself and with one another, and in doing so establish the groundwork for the informal whole group discussions that I planned to facilitate when the group met to talk about the four graphic novels it read. Over the course of the study I conducted a total of three whole group interviews, each of which was semi-structured (Fontana & Frey, 1994). The initial two interviews occurred
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during the first two reading group meetings, while the third took place during the seventh, and final meeting. As defined by Kvale (1996), a semi-structured interview “has a sequence of themes to be covered, as well as suggested questions” (p. 124). Yet unlike a structured interview, which compels researchers to adhere inflexibly to an interview protocol, the semistructured interview is characterized by “an openness to changes of sequence and forms of questions in order to follow up the answers given and the stories told by the subjects” (Kvale, 1996, p. 124). While I made use of interview protocols, I reserved the right to pursue topics that emerged in the discussions using a combination of probing, follow-up, and interpreting questions (Kvale, 1996; Patton, 2002). Varying the types of questions that were asked in this way made it possible for me to examine the responses the participants shared, invite them to extend their thoughts, and gauge my understanding of their responses by repeating their ideas back to them as a form of member checking (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). The first whole group interview took place during the initial meeting of the reading group, and provided the participants with an opportunity to talk about their conceptions of comic books and graphic novels as a form of reading material, as well as their experiences reading them. To facilitate the discussion I made use of an interview protocol that consisted of 18 questions (see appendix C). The second whole group interview took place two weeks later at the start of the following meeting, and allowed me to explore a series of questions and issues that emerged as I transcribed the initial interview. The third whole group interview, which took place during the seventeenth week of the study, and which occurred during the final meeting of the reading group, invited the participants to reflect on their experiences in the study. Specifically, it asked them to share their perceptions of the reading group discussions in which they participated, as well as the graphic novels they read. To determine whether the participants’ conceptions of graphic novels as a form of reading material
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underwent any degree of change as a result of their having taken part in the reading group discussions, I revisited several questions that I posed during the first whole group interview. In addition, I asked a series of questions that grew out of my experiences working with the participants over the course of the study. In doing so, I again made use of an interview protocol that consisted of 18 questions (see appendix D), though I reserved the right to pursue themes that arose in the course of the conversation. All three whole group interviews were videotaped in their entirety, a decision that was motivated by two factors. First, as Flewitt (2006) argues, “From a multimodal perspective, meanings with language are interwoven with meanings made in other modes, highlighting the interdependent assemblage of different semiotic modes” (p. 28). Videotaping the meetings made it possible to capture the facial expressions, gestures, and other resources the participants used to communicate their thoughts. Additionally, Adler and Adler (1994) observe, “Videotaping the data offers the advantages of being able to freeze interactions to reexamine them repeatedly, to subject them to rescrutiny by multiple observers, and to capture behavioral nuances precisely” (p. 383). Given my desire to observe the participants in the context of whole group discussions, and recognizing that overlapping talk might occasionally make it difficult to identify individual speakers, I came to regard videotaping as a strategy that would support my efforts to transcribe the data. To record the whole group interviews (as well as the discussions about the graphic novels) I positioned a digital camera that was mounted on a tripod on the far side of the classroom opposite the table at which the reading group met, and directly behind the chair in which I sat. As a result, though my face was precluded from view, it was—for the most part—possible to observe the participants. Because the quality of sound captured by digital cameras is occasionally suspect, I chose to record all three of the whole group interviews
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using a digital audio-recorder as well, the result of which made it possible for me to review the data in two mediums. Given that I was responsible for conducting the whole group interviews, and was therefore unable to take notes, it was necessary for me to compose detailed field notes immediately after the meetings. All three of the whole group interviews were transcribed in their entirety, and they accounted for 102 pages of data. Semi-structured individual interviews. Citing potential drawbacks involved in making use of whole group interviews, Fontana and Frey (1994) observe that the culture of the group “may interfere with individual expression, the group may be dominated by one person, the group format makes it difficult to research sensitive topics, [and] ‘group think’ is a possible outcome” (p. 365). In addition to making use of whole group interviews, I elected to interview each of the participants once on an individual basis. The individual interviews took place between April 6th and April 8th, either during the school day or immediately thereafter depending on the arrangements that I made in advance with the participants. On average, the individual interviews lasted 38 minutes. Like the whole-group interviews, the individual interviews were semi-structured (Fontana & Frey, 1994), the result of which made it possible for me to address specific issues that I planned to explore in advance, while at the same time giving me the freedom to pursue aspects of the participants’ responses that intrigued me. Transcribing two whole group interviews and three whole group discussions prior to meeting with the participants individually led me to identify a series of questions that I wished to explore with them, and made it possible for me to construct interview protocols that were tailored for use with specific individuals. As was the case with the whole group interviews, I again made use of probing, follow up, and interpreting questions (Kvale, 1996; Patton, 2002), the result of which allowed me to explore ideas the participants shared in greater detail, and check my
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understanding of them. Likewise, I shared emergent themes that I recognized in the data with the intention of eliciting feedback from the participants through the use of member checking (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). Spradley (1979) observes that interviews are best understood as “a series of friendly conversations into which the researcher slowly introduces new elements to assist informants to respond as informants” (p. 58). This notion of “friendly conversations” captures the atmosphere that pervaded the individual interviews I conducted. Having had time to develop relationships with the participants, I was able to open the individual interviews by engaging them in conversation about issues and topics that I knew were of interest to them, the result of which appeared to put them at ease. It was not unusual for laughter to occur during our conversations, and several of the participants shared personal anecdotes with me, which led me to conclude that they were comfortable talking with me. Given the need to attend to the observations the participants shared with me, I chose to maintain skeleton notes during the interviews, and develop them into extensive field notes later in the day. Given that I did not face the challenge of having to transcribe an interview with multiple voices, I opted not to videotape the individual interviews. Instead, I recorded them using a digital audio-recorder that I placed on the table at which the participants and I sat. The individual interviews were transcribed in their entirety, and accounted for 149 pages of data. Whole group discussions about graphic novels. Patton (2002) observes that interviewees inevitably report “selective perceptions” (p. 264). As a result, he cautions against relying exclusively on interviews to collect data. Instead, he advocates balancing interviews with observations, the result of which allows researchers to examine the activities they wish to understand in the settings in which they transpire. My decision to create
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opportunities for the participants to talk with one another about the graphic novels they read in the context of whole group discussions was motivated by an assumption on my behalf that references to their conceptions of them as a form of reading material, and to the semiotic resources they drew on while reading them, would emerge in their talk. Moreover, it allowed me to examine the practices I sought to study in a social context (Heath, 1982; Street, 1984). To create opportunities for the participants to talk about the graphic novels they read I chose to facilitate “grand conversations,” a term that Eeds and Wells (1989) attribute to Jim Higgins who, talking to a group of teachers at Arizona State University in 1985, is said to have suggested that literature discussions in American classrooms resembled “gentle inquisitions” when what was needed were “grand conversations” (p. 4). The discussion approach Eeds and Wells (1989, 1991) subsequently developed, which is known as Grand Conversations, seeks to create a context in which students work collaboratively to coconstruct interpretations of the literary texts they read. Eschewing questions that assume a right or wrong answer, the Grand Conversations approach instead encourages teachers to use “big questions” (Peterson & Eeds, 2007) to spark dialogues that resemble the kind of authentic conversations adults have about literature. Teachers are encouraged to follow-up on the ideas that students introduce in the flow of discussion rather than adhere to a set of prescribed questions. In this sense they position themselves as a “participant in a book group, a fellow reader who shares joys and difficulties, insights and speculations, and asks only the questions she or he genuinely wonders about” (Eeds & Peterson, 1991, p. 119). On those occasions when the reading group met to talk about a graphic novel, I opened the discussions by posing the sort of open-ended questions for which Peterson and Eeds (2007) argue. For example, when the group met to talk about Persepolis I initiated the discussion by asking, “What did you think of it? Did you like it, did you not like it, and
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why?” (Persepolis Discussion, 3, 118-119). Two weeks later, when we met to talk about Night Fisher, I asked, “How are we supposed to interpret this?” (Night Fisher Discussion, 4, 159). By the third discussion I had turned over control for initiating a topic to the participants, and merely asked, “What do you want to talk about?” (Pride of Baghdad Discussion, 2, 75). Throughout the discussions I attempted to follow up on the responses the participants shared using questions that encouraged them to extend their thinking. Though I asked a number of questions, I made a concerted effort to turn over responsibility for directing the discussions to the participants, and in doing so tried to position myself as a fellow conversant who shared his responses to the graphic novels he read, and who raised authentic questions (Nystrand et al., 1997) he faced as a reader. Throughout the study the discussions the reading group had about the assigned graphic novels adhered to a three-part structure. To open a meeting I provided the participants with background information about the creator(s) of the graphic novel they read to help them contextualize it. Additionally, I distributed copies of an interview the cartoonist completed, and invited the participants to read it at their leisure provided that doing so interested them. Following this, I used an open-ended question to transition the group into a conversation about the text. Finally, with approximately five minutes remaining in a meeting, I brought the discussion to a close and, having instructed the participants to record the phrase “Parting Shots” in their response journal, I asked them to respond to one or two open-ended questions that were intended to generate additional data, and that were relevant to the research questions I sought to answer. All four of the discussions were videotaped and audio recorded. Likewise, they were transcribed in their entirety. In transcribing the discussions I distinguished between their various segments using the labels “Pre-Discussion,” “Discussion,” and “Post-Discussion.” When I analyzed the data, I focused only on the
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“Discussion” portion of the transcripts. My decision to do so was influenced by the fact that I regarded the “Pre-Discussion” and “Post-Discussion” as maintenance activities that existed apart from the discussions themselves. At the study’s conclusion, the four discussion transcripts accounted for 210 pages of data. Response journals. To understand how they thought about graphic novels, and to identify the semiotic resources they drew on as they read them, I asked the participants to maintain response journals as they read each of the four graphic novels. The response journal was predicated on one introduced by Benton (1992) in Secondary Worlds: Literature Teaching and the Visual Arts, and it invited the participants to record questions they faced as they read, reflect on memories a text happened to evoke, predict the direction they expected a narrative to follow, reflect on images or passages that interested them, and comment on the manner in which a cartoonist chose to tell a story. Although the aforementioned categories appeared in the handout that I distributed for the activity, I did not initially choose to review them with the participants. Recognizing that introducing artificial categories of response would likely influence the manner in which the participants responded to the graphic novels they read, I instead introduced the response journal activity by creating an opportunity for the participants to respond to a poem, and, in doing so, learn about the manner in which they responded to literary texts through a process of discovery. Having talked with the group about the challenges researchers interested in studying response face, I distributed copies of a poem and instructed the participants to record their thoughts as they read it in the margins. When they finished working, I invited them to share their thoughts aloud, and walk their peers and myself through their reading of the text. All six of the participants shared their responses, after which I asked them to talk about patterns they observed in terms of the things they found themselves doing as readers.
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The participants identified the majority of the behaviors that appeared on the first page of the directions for the response journal assignment (see appendix E), though they had not yet seen it. Having foregrounded these categories of response, I distributed copies of the handout that included the directions for the assignment, and reviewed the first page aloud. Prior to reviewing the second page of the handout I distributed copies of an excerpt from a graphic novel the participants were not required to read, and asked them to repeat the activity. When they finished writing I again invited them to share their responses aloud. Having drawn their attention to discrepancies in their responses, I informed them that responses were neither right nor wrong. Following this I reviewed the second page of the handout, which outlined the specific directions for the response journal assignment. I then gave the participants an opportunity to pose any lingering questions they had. To conclude the meeting I distributed copies of the first graphic novel the group was scheduled to read, along with copies of the response journal in which they were expected to write. Rather than give the participants a notebook, I opted to give them personalized journals. The cover of each journal was color-coded to match the corresponding graphic novel the group was scheduled to read, and it featured an image from the narrative, as well as a heading that identified the journal’s owner (e.g., “Hermione’s Journal”). Inside, the pages were lined, much like the pages of a diary or notebook. Additionally, each of the journals was professionally bound to withstand use. On the four occasions when the reading group met to talk about a graphic novel, I concluded the meeting by collecting their completed response journals, after which I distributed the graphic novel and response journal for the following meeting. Responses to open-ended question prompts. Having talked about a graphic novel in the context of a whole group discussion, I asked the participants to open their response
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journals to the last page and record the phrase “Parting Shots.” Once they had done so, I asked them to respond in their journals to one or two open-ended questions that occurred to me either during the discussion, or while I was transcribing a previous discussion or interview. The questions varied from one meeting to the next, and were designed to generate additional data that would help me address the first research question. In total, the participants responded to six open-ended questions: 1) What, if anything, did you notice about the graphic novel as a result of having had the opportunity to talk about it? 2) As you read the graphic novel, did you find that you paid more attention to written language, to images, or did you assign them equal attention? 3) How would you compare Night Fisher to Persepolis? Did you find that the two graphic novels used art to tell the story in similar ways? Why, or why not? 4) How would you compare Pride of Baghdad to Persepolis and Night Fisher, and why? 5) How, if at all, has the way you read graphic novels changed as a result of talking about them with the other members of the reading group? 6) Stylistically speaking, what, if anything, do you think made Laika different from the other graphic novels you read in the reading group? Summative journals. In addition to the response journals they maintained as they read the assigned graphic novels, the participants were asked to compose a summative journal at the conclusion of the study (see appendix F). For organizational purposes, the assignment was divided into three parts. Specifically, the directions invited the participants to reflect critically on the time they spent in the reading group; to evaluate their experiences reading the four graphic novels; and to identity anything they felt they might have gained as a
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result of participating in the reading group. A packet containing the directions for the assignment, along with lined sheets of paper on which the participants were able to write, was distributed at the conclusion of the sixth reading group meeting. Having reviewed the directions aloud, I gave the participants an opportunity to pose any questions they had about the assignment. The completed summative journals were collected at the conclusion of the seventh—and final—reading group meeting. Observations and field notes. According to Adler and Adler (1994), “the nature of researchers’ observations inevitably shifts in range and character from the early to later stages of an observational project” (p. 381). The observations that I conducted over the course of the study are best characterized as having existed on a continuum that ranged from unfocused to focused. In the initial stages of the study the focus of my observations remained “broad, encompassing virtually all aspects of the setting” (Patton, 2002, p. 275). As time passed, however, my interactions with the participants, coupled with the time I spent transcribing my data, led me to recognize questions and issues that I wished to explore in greater depth. As a result, the observations that I conducted grew more focused. Given that my situatedness as a participant observer (Spradley, 1980) meant that I was required to facilitate the research activities while at the same time attending to observations, I found it difficult to maintain detailed field notes in the course of the meetings. As such, I chose to compose extensive typewritten field notes immediately after. Spradley (1980) encourages researchers to maintain “a detailed record of both objective observations and subjective feelings” (p. 58). Likewise, Lincoln and Guba (1985) regard practicing reflexivity as an “opportunity for catharsis, for reflection upon what is happening in terms of one’s own values and interests, and for speculation about growing insights” (p. 327). In structuring my field notes, I elected to fold my subjective reflections
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into my descriptive field notes, and denote them by indenting them and setting them in italics (see appendix G). At the study’s conclusion, field notes accounted for just over 100 pages of data. Interviews with faculty. To gain a sense of appreciation for the contexts in which the participants were accustomed to reading and talking about literature, and to contextualize their responses to the graphic novels in my case study, I interviewed each of their English teachers. In conducting the interviews I invited the teachers to talk about their respective approaches to literature instruction, literary texts they used with students, and the role discussion played in their classrooms. Broadening the scope of the interview, I asked them to talk about the department’s literature program, and invited them to critique its strengths and limitations. To conclude the interviews I asked the teachers to talk about their impression of the participants’ performance as readers, writers, and conversants in class discussions. To facilitate the interviews, which were semi-structured (Fontana & Frey, 1994), I made use of a protocol that consisted of 19 questions (see appendix H). Recognizing that inviting the teachers to share their thoughts about departmental issues potentially required them to talk about sensitive issues, I chose not to record the conversations. Instead, I maintained short notes, which I subsequently developed into extensive field notes. To broaden my understanding of the literature program as it existed in Hamilton High School’s English department, to identify specific goals and objectives toward which the department understood itself to work, and to further enrich my data set, I chose to interview two additional English teachers, as well as Mr. Walker, the department chairperson. The interview with Mr. Walker was semi-structured (Fontana & Frey, 1994), and involved the use of a protocol that consisted of 11 questions (see appendix I). Again, rather than record the interview, I chose to compose field notes afterward. Given that Dr. Fisher, the director of the
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Learning Center, worked closely with the high school’s English teachers, and recognizing that her position as a media specialist enabled her to talk about trends she observed so far as student reading interests were concerned, I chose to interview her as well. We met toward the end of the study, and I documented the interview by maintaining field notes. The interview was semi-structured (Fontana & Frey, 1994), and I made use of an interview protocol that consisted of 13 questions (see appendix J). In the section to follow I discuss the approach that was taken to organize and analyze the data. Having done so, I conclude the chapter by addressing the steps that were taken to heighten the study’s trustworthiness (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). Data Organization and Analysis The Transcription Process Initially, I contemplated hiring a professional service to transcribe the interviews and discussions that I collected. In the end, however, several factors led me to decide against doing so. First, although the process of transcribing is time consuming, it is said to result in a greater sense of familiarity with one’s data (Bailey, 2008; Kvale, 1996; Patton, 2002). Likewise, transcription and analysis are not easily distinguished. As Silverman (2001) observes, transcribing entails “close, repeated listening to recordings which often reveal previously unnoted recurring features of the organization of talk” (p. 164). In light of these arguments, I elected to transcribe the interviews and reading group discussions myself. Following each reading group meeting I returned home and wrote field notes for the remainder of the evening. The next morning I set about transcribing the data I collected with the intention of completing a transcript prior to the start of the following meeting. This arrangement enabled me to make use of theoretical sampling (Strauss & Corbin, 1998), and return to the field with additional questions and issues that I wished to explore with the
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participants. It also allowed me to share emergent themes that I recognized during data analysis with the participants, a form of member checking that helped ensure the study’s trustworthiness (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). According to Kvale (1996), “decisions about style of transcribing depend on the use of the transcriptions” (p. 170). Given my desire to analyze the topics the participants introduced in their talk, I decided it was necessary to transcribe the interviews and discussions in their entirety. To do so, I first watched a videotaped recording of a meeting. Following this, I viewed the videotape repeatedly, and in doing so constructed a tentative draft of a transcript. Next, I re-read the transcript with the intention of editing it as I listened to an audio recording of the same meeting, which usually offered a higher quality of sound. This process required me to listen to the recording multiple times. Adopting this systematic approach—which entailed viewing and listening to the data on multiple occasions, and rereading the transcripts multiple times—allowed me to construct what I came to regard as a final draft of a transcript, though I recognized that transcripts are “not copies or representations of some original reality” (Kvale, 1996, p. 165). Figure 3.4, which appears on the following page, presents the conventions that I employed to transcribe the data, as well as examples of their use.
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S ymb ol -((
))
Expl an at i on Speaker self-corrects, trails off, or is interrupted Description of scene
#
Item of doubtful transcription (one word)
#### [
Item of doubtful transcription (more than one word) Overlapping talk
=
Speaker continues across an interruption
Examp le Sarah: He's like an out-- outsider. or Hal: It's, it's, it's so funny 'cause-Sarah: ((leafs through the pages of her response journal)) I forget what I wrote about it, but I remember I wrote like-- I don't remember. Sarah: It was like dark, but #. Hermione: You got everything ###. Hal: I just [noticed-Bill: [Who's-- Who's Sandy? Barry: [They were all= R.:
CAPS
[Um, hmm.
Barry: =pretty much like straight on, you know? Hal: It's REALLY creepy.
Emphasis on word(s)
Figure 3.4 –Transcription Conventions and Examples Procedures Followed During Data Analysis As stated at the start of this chapter, my case study led me to focus on the experiences of six high school students who agreed to read four graphic novels and talk about them in the context of a voluntary reading group that met after school in the Learning Center at Hamilton High School. Readers will recall that the four research questions my study sought to address, along with the data set on which I drew to answer them, were outlined in Figure 3.3, which was presented earlier in this chapter on page 162. To facilitate data analysis I made use of grounded theory (Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1998), which Creswell (2002/2005) defines as “a systematic, qualitative procedure used to generate a theory that explains, at a broad conceptual level, a process, an action, or interaction about a substantive topic” (p. 396). Unlike quantitative researchers, who approach data analysis deductively using coding categories that are developed prior to
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data collection, qualitative methodologists who make use of grounded theory assume that a theory “is likely to be a better theory to the degree that it has been inductively developed” (Glaser & Strauss, 1967, p. 5). As conceptualized by Strauss and Corbin (1998), the constant comparative method associated with grounded theory entails the use of three forms of coding—open, axial, and selective. During open coding, researchers analyze the data they collect with the intention of identifying and labeling concepts that are relevant to the questions they ask. These concepts are understood to constitute the building blocks of theory. Similar concepts are grouped together and assigned the same conceptual label, and through this process the data are fractured—that is, “broken down into discrete parts, closely examined, and compared for similarities and differences” (Strauss & Corbin, 1998, p. 102). Having transcribed a piece of data, I began the process of analyzing it using open coding. Because I took the group as my case, I read the data with the intention of identifying emergent themes that allowed me to describe the manner in which the group—as opposed to individuals—read, talked about, and conceived of graphic novels. As I read the response journals, interview transcripts, and discussion transcripts, I chunked individual lines thematically, and fractured them using labels that named or described the concept (or main idea) that I understood a speaker or writer to address. For example, referring to a panel she encountered when she read Laika, Sarah wrote in her response journal, “The colors are still matte, and a bit sad, even though it’s spring.” Noting that the concept of “color” appeared to represent her primary concern when I first read her journal, and driven to identify semiotic resources the participants drew on to construct meaning when they read the graphic novels, I labeled her statement “Color.” On those occasions when an individual line appeared to
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contain more than one concept, I labeled it twice. Through this process the data were fractured into numerous concepts. Whereas data are fractured during open coding, they are reassembled in new ways during axial coding. Strauss and Corbin (1998) regard axial coding as a process in which researchers ask questions of the concepts they develop with the intention of more clearly defining their properties and dimensions. Additionally, they stress the importance of comparing individual concepts with the intention of constructing larger conceptual categories, which are in turn linked to relevant subcategories. As I analyzed my data, I related the concepts that I identified to one another with the intention of identifying recurring patterns, which in turn allowed me to identify emergent themes. For example, when the reading group met to talk about Laika, Hal referred to the color assigned the background of a panel in which a character appeared. In doing so he exclaimed, “It reflects her, the color reflects her mood.” Recognizing a thematic relationship between his statement and the aforementioned journal entry that Sarah composed, I identified a subcategory for the theme of “Color,” which I labeled “Establishes Mood.” In this way I was able to progressively reduce the number of concepts with which I was working, and identify recurring themes that appeared to account for the manner in which the group read, talked about, and conceived of graphic novels. Because I chose to analyze the data in this manner—searching them for the presence of recurring themes, and making connections across individuals—I am unable to report frequencies, a limitation that is addressed in chapter five. The relationship between open, axial, and selective coding is not sequential. Indeed, Strauss and Corbin (1998) argue, “One does not stop coding for properties and dimensions while one is developing relationships between concepts” (p. 136). Instead, the process of establishing relationships between concepts and categories, and of integrating main
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categories, is understood to continue throughout the writing process. As was explained earlier in this chapter, data collection and data analysis were recursive. Having identified what I recognized as emergent themes, I returned to the field with the intention of asking questions that would allow me to develop them in greater detail. Throughout this time I listened repeatedly to the recordings of the interviews and discussions, and I reread the participants’ response journals as well as the field notes that I maintained. As I did so I composed a series of memos, a practice that Charmaz (2003) regards as “the intermediate step between coding and the first draft of the completed analysis” (p. 261). As conceptualized by Strauss and Corbin (1998), selective coding constitutes a process in which researchers integrate the conceptual categories they identify during open and axial coding with the intention of constructing an over-arching explanatory framework that allows them to account for (or make sense of) the phenomenon under investigation. In doing so, one’s objective is to construct what Strauss and Corbin (1998) refer to as a “central category,” which they suggest “represents the main theme of the research” (p. 146). In working toward this end I continued to search for relationships that would allow me to relate the recurring themes that I identified to one another. In doing so my intention was to gradually collapse them and construct “central categories”—or, more precisely, central themes—that addressed each of the four research questions my study asked. It should be noted that a second coder did not validate the themes that are reported in the chapter to follow, a limitation that I address in chapter five. The themes were, however, shared with the participants through a process of what Lincoln and Guba (1985) call member checking, a result of my desire to “demonstrate the credibility of the findings by having them approved by the constructors of the multiple realities being studied” (p. 296). This, along
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with the others steps that were taken to ensure the study’s trustworthiness, is the subject of the section to follow. Trustworthiness In the opening chapter of this dissertation I situated myself in the constructivist paradigm (Denzin & Lincoln, 2003) as a researcher. Given that my study was founded on relativist ontological and epistemological assumptions, it was inappropriate for me to employ criteria that Lincoln and Guba (1985) suggest are conventionally used to gauge the rigor of a study—internal validity, external validity, reliability, and objectivity. Rather, to establish the credibility of the findings that are presented in the chapters to follow, and to ensure the trustworthiness of my study, I made use of strategies that Lincoln and Guba (1985) regard as appropriate for qualitative research. This included the use of triangulation, peer debriefings, negative case analysis, and member checking. Triangulation Lincoln and Guba (1985) regard triangulation, which involves the use of multiple sources of data that corroborate each other, as a “mode of improving the probability that findings and interpretations will be found credible” (p. 305). As my discussion of the data collection process suggests, triangulation in this study was accomplished in three ways. First, data were collected from a range of sources, the result of which ensured that I had access to multiple perspectives. Primary data sources included the six high school students who agreed to participate in a voluntary after-school reading group, while secondary data sources, which were used to contextualize the findings, included the English department chairperson, each of the participants’ respective English teachers, two additional English teachers, and the director of the high school’s Learning Center.
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Triangulation was also realized by varying the methods that were used to collect data. As was seen, the data corpus for the study consisted of reading interest surveys; transcripts of whole-group and individual semi-structured interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994); response journals the participants maintained as they read the graphic novels; complete transcripts of the four whole group discussions in which the participants shared their responses to the graphic novels; summative journals the participants composed; written responses to openended questions; and field notes. Finally, as evidenced by Figure 3.3 on page 162, triangulation was realized during analysis, as the data set that I drew on to answer each of the four research questions included data that were collected using a range of methods. As a result, I was able to cross-validate what I recognized as recurring themes. Peer Debriefing To ensure that I was not imposing predetermined patterns on the data in my quest to identify emergent and recurring themes, I made use of what Lincoln and Guba (1985) call peer debriefing, a process that is designed to keep a researcher “honest” by “exposing him or her to searching questions by an experienced protagonist doing his or her best to play the devil’s advocate” (p. 308). Throughout the course of my study I met with my advisor to share questions that I faced as a researcher, to seek her advice about issues related to methodology, and to elicit her feedback regarding emergent themes that I observed in the data. Later, when I began writing my dissertation, I met with another member of my dissertation committee, as well as a professor in my program area, to share my interpretations of my findings. These meetings proved particularly valuable in that they allowed me to obtain advice from individuals who had extensive experience conducting research. More importantly, these professors challenged my thinking through the questions they asked, and
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allowed me to gain additional perspectives on my data. As a result, I came to recognize questions and possibilities that I would otherwise have overlooked. Negative Case Analysis According to Lincoln and Guba (1985), researchers who make use of negative case analysis sift through their data in search of evidence that will allow them to refine the interpretations they construct. As explained earlier in this chapter, data collection and data analysis were concurrent in my study. As themes emerged during data analysis, I returned to the field with the intention of asking additional questions that were designed to probe them more fully. Equally important, I assessed the credibility of the themes that I identified by searching for instances of disconfirming evidence in my data. Over time, adopting this approach allowed me to refine my interpretations of those themes. Lincoln and Guba (1985) observe that the prospect of constructing an interpretation for which there are no negative cases is highly unlikely (p. 312). Recognizing this, I folded instances of what I recognized as negative cases into my discussion of the findings, which are presented in chapter four. Member Checking Lincoln and Guba (1985) regard member checking as the “the most crucial technique for establishing credibility” (p. 314), not least because it allows researchers to evaluate their interpretations of their data by sharing them with the individuals from whom they were collected. According to Lincoln and Guba (1985), member checking “is both informal and formal, and it occurs continuously” (p. 314). Throughout the study I made use of informal member checks to gauge my interpretations of the themes that I identified during data analysis. In doing so I reminded the participants that my objective as a researcher was to understand how they conceived of and read graphic novels. Whenever I met with them, be it individually or as a whole group, I created opportunities for them to critique my
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interpretations of the data and respond to what I recognized as emergent and recurring themes. One strategy that I found particularly helpful in working toward this end was to make use of what Kvale (1996) refers to as “interpreting questions” (p. 135). Specifically, interpreting questions require a researcher to check his or her interpretations of information that participants share by repeating it back to them in the form of a question (e.g., “Are you saying that…?” “Am I right in thinking that…?”). By adopting this approach, I attempted to ensure that my interpretations of the participants’ experiences approximated their own understanding of them. Although the strategies outlined in this section were undertaken with the intention of ensuring the trustworthiness of my study, I acknowledge, following Lincoln and Guba (1985), that the aforementioned criteria “can never be satisfied to such an extent that the trustworthiness of the inquiry could be labeled as unassailable” (p. 329). Still, by endeavoring to make the methodology that I employed transparent, and by providing thick descriptions (Geertz, 1973), both of the context in which my study took place and the participants with whom I worked, my intention is to help readers transfer (Lincoln & Guba, 1985) my findings so that they might gauge their applicability to readers in other settings. Conclusion Having described the participants, the research site, and the methodology that I employed to collect and analyze my data, I present the findings that emerged during data analysis, as well as my interpretations of them, in the chapter to follow. In doing so my intention is to understand how six high school students, all of whom were identified as proficient readers by their high school English teachers, conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, how they drew on the semiotic resources they encountered to construct meaning in their transactions with the texts they read, and how their conceptions of
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graphic novels changed as they were given the opportunity to talk about them with other readers in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group.
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CHAPTER 4: ANALYSIS OF FINDINGS
As explained in the opening chapter, literacy educators have expressed an interest in understanding the role that graphic novels—a marketing term used to refer to a book-length work that uses the comics medium to convey a narrative (Chute, 2008)—might play in educational contexts. Arguments for using graphic novels in the classroom occasionally celebrate their ability to motivate so-called “reluctant” readers (Crawford, 2004; Dorrell, 1987; Simmons, 2003; Snowball, 2005), and support English language learners (Chun, 2009; Ranker, 2007; Williams, 1995). Others regard graphic novels as a tool to support students who struggle with reading and writing (Bitz, 2004; Frey & Fisher, 2004; Morrison et al., 2002). Although a growing number of scholars have acknowledged works written in the medium of comics as a complex form of reading material (Allen & Ingulsrud, 2003; Jacobs, 2007; Versaci, 2001, 2007), and though they have foregrounded the value of using graphic novels with multiple audiences (Carter, 2007), few applied studies have asked how stronger readers at the high school level read, talk about, and experience them as a form of reading material. To address a gap in the literature on graphic novels, and to contribute to a growing, but already substantial, body of scholarship on multimodal reading, I conducted a case study that asked how six high school students who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, what semiotic
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resources they drew on as they read them, and how, if at all, talking about graphic novels in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group influenced the manner in which they conceived of them. In the chapter to follow I analyze a series of themes that emerged in response to the four research questions my study sought to address. To assist the reader, I approach the discussion according to the order in which the questions were asked. Analysis of Findings for Research Question One The first research question that framed my study asked, “What are high school students’ experiences reading graphic novels, and how do they conceive of them as a form of reading material?” For organizational purposes I approach this question in two parts. First, drawing on transcripts of individual interviews, completed reading interest surveys, and transcripts of the initial two whole group semi-structured interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994), I characterize the participants’ experiences reading graphic novels as having fallen on a continuum that ranged from experienced to inexperienced. Having done so, I explore their individual experiences in detail, and argue that self-reports the participants provided indicated that those who had more experience reading graphic novels were situated as members of what I call a “community of comics readers” prior to participating in the study. To address the latter half of the research question, I draw on interview transcripts (whole group as well as individual) and examine the manner in which the participants conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material. In doing so, I identify two stigmas they associated with graphic novels, and discuss their understanding of the knowledge that they assumed was needed to read them. Finding One: Participant Experience Reading Graphic Novels A theme that emerged during data analysis indicated that the degree of experience the participants had reading graphic novels varied considerably. The completed reading interest
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surveys and the whole group and individual semi-structured interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994) suggested that Hal and Barry, who claimed to have read graphic novels for over eight years, had the most experience with this form of reading material. Indeed, their appetite for it was voracious. Both of them were interested in the superhero genre, and they often lingered after the reading group meetings ended to talk with me about series they had read, writers and artists whose work they admired, and graphic novels they thought I might appreciate. At the time the study took place Saki had read manga for four years. However, he had no experience reading Western graphic novels. Though he lagged behind Hal and Barry so far as his experience reading works written in the medium of comics was concerned, Saki read them with a greater degree of frequency than did the other members of the group. If one were to construe experience reading comics as a continuum that ranged from inexperienced to highly experienced readers, Saki would have occupied a spot toward the more experienced end. On the same continuum, Bill and Hermione occupied a position somewhere toward the center. Their experience reading Western graphic novels was limited—Bill, for example, reported having read one of the books in the Sin City series by Frank Miller, while Hermione recalled having read Art Spiegelman’s graphic novel Maus in middle school, and Watchmen at a later point in time. They both reported reading manga for between four and eight years, although they did so less frequently than Saki. Whereas he reported reading one or two volumes per week, Bill and Hermione recalled having read somewhere between five and ten volumes in the preceding year. Having read one graphic novel, Watchmen, and no manga, Sarah was the least experienced member of the group, and she self-identified as a novice reader on several occasions.
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In the sections to follow I analyze the participants’ experiences reading graphic novels in greater detail. As will be seen, evidence suggested that those individuals who had more experience reading works written in the medium of comics—again, Hal, Barry, and Saki—were situated as members of what I call a community of comics readers prior to participating in the study. As explained in chapter two, in using the latter term I refer to a specific kind of community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), one whose members share an affinity for works written in the medium of comics, as well as a repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading and talking about them. As will be seen, evidence suggested that Hal, Barry, and Saki entered a community of comics readers through the support of a sponsor (Brandt, 2001). Given that they had more experience reading works written in the medium of comics, I approach their experiences individually. Hermione, Bill, and Sarah, on the other hand, had considerably less experience reading graphic novels, the result of which led me to address their experiences in a single section. Though I ostensibly focus on individuals in the discussion to follow, my intention is to construct a broad portrait of the group’s experience with this particular form of reading material. Hal. Of the six participants, Hal had the most experience reading graphic novels. At a local level, his father sponsored (Brandt, 2001) his entrance into a community of comics readers—a term that I use to refer to a particular kind of community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). His father was an avid comic book reader, the result of which ensured that Hal grew up surrounded by a form of reading material for which he possessed a deep affinity, and about which he was exceptionally knowledgeable. It is not too much to say that Hal was born into a world of comics. His father named him after the alias of his favorite superhero—Booster Gold—in spite of protests by his grandfather. He also purchased the
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complete Booster Gold series of comic books as a gift for his son when he was born. Later, Hal’s father purchased a copy of JLA—Justice League of America—for him when he visited the comic book shop each month, and Hal came to regard it as the first serial comic book he read on a regular basis. In addition to ensuring that Hal had access to comic books and graphic novels, his father appeared to create opportunities for him to talk about them with a more experienced reader. Indeed, Hal recalled having talked about comic books and graphic novels with his father from the time he was a child. He characterized their conversations as informal and congenial, and he suggested that they were likely to talk about favorite characters, critique artwork, anticipate the direction they expected a series to follow, and evaluate a writer’s work by measuring it against other stories he or she had written. A junior in high school at the time the study took place, Hal continued to talk with his father about comic books on a regular basis, and it was evident that he valued the opportunity to do so. “It’s really a bonding experience,” he explained, “when you start talking about this” (Individual Interview, 6, 246-247). As he matured, Hal began to accompany his father to comic book conventions, professionally sponsored events at which fans of comic books and graphic novels gather to talk about them. Doing so made it possible for him to enter a community of comics readers at a more global level. In addition to expanding his network of potential conversants by bringing him into contact with other readers, attending these conventions allowed Hal to talk with industry insiders—most notably, writers and artists—the result of which appeared to influence the manner in which he thought about the comic books and graphic novels he read. Recounting a conversation he had with an artist who led him to recognize a parallel between comic books and movies Hal explained:
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Comic books are, are kind of like movies but on paper. 'Cause, uh, I was talking to an artist once, uh, and he was telling me if you want to be a good comic book artist you've got to watch a lot of movies. And, um, so I really took that, I really took that and I was like, "You're right!" Because, uh, you can do so much more, uh, you can do so much if, if you're not the person seeing it. (Individual Interview, 11, 480-484) In this instance the artist with whom Hal spoke—an individual who was situated as an insider (Soter, 1999) in the world of comics—adopted the role of sponsor (Brandt, 2001), and encouraged Hal to view the comic books he read from a vantage point that seemingly had not occurred to him. Hal’s insistence that he “really took” the advice he was given suggests that the way he thought about comic books and graphic novels was influenced as a result of his participating in that conversation. Hal regarded the opportunity to attend comic book conventions with his father as having contributed to his development as a comics reader, and he credited the experience with having brought him “into the culture of the, uh, the comic book collecting experience” (Individual Interview, 3, 107-109). That he understood himself to have entered a “culture” suggests that he was cognizant of a community of comics readers in relation to which one was positioned as more or less an insider (Soter, 1999). Asked what he intended when he used the word “culture,” an admittedly difficult question, Hal exhaled deeply, and, having taken a moment to gather his thoughts, offered a rather astute answer: R: When, when you use the word "culture" how do you mean that? Hal: It's, uh-- ((pauses, then exhales)) R.: I've heard other people refer to a, a "comics culture." Hal: It, it's, ((exhales)) it's kind of a community where you, you share interests with this, uh, common interests with other people and you can talk with them about that. (Individual Interview, 3, 115-120) That Hal substituted the word “community” in place of culture is noteworthy in light of the argument that I am constructing, as is his assertion that the interest readers share in comics
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leads them to talk about them with one another. The latter claim indirectly points to the role that language plays in creating and maintaining a community of comics readers. Having defined a “comics culture” as a community of individuals who share an interest in a particular form of reading material, and who enjoy talking about it with one another, Hal identified a community of comics readers to which he understood himself to belong at a local level: Hal: I mean that's how me and Barry are friends really. Um, 'cause I don't really-((pause)) I am not real close friends with people that aren't comic book readers. Or I wasn't. Like when I was in grade school I never, I only had like one or two friends. And then in middle school, uh, I met Barry through a friend and then, ((pause)) we're pretty much best friends and we hang out all the time and it's pretty much just the two of us. And then we, uh, then we have Cameron Gordon who likes comic books. And, and, you know, it's, it's also comic books, um, movies and all that. Theater really helped me too, uh, to get friends 'cause that was another thing. [But with= R.:
[Hmm.
Hal: =comic books it's the same thing. Where you can relate with someone and you're like ((animatedly, as if in conversation)), "Oh, yeah! I read that issue!" Or, um, "Well, did you know that this is what hap-- what's happening with that character?" "Really? I've got to read that!" R.: Um, hmm. Hal: It's, it's kind of like having a book club but it's more acc-- it's more accessible. (Individual Interview, 3-4, 111-139) The analogy between a book club and a community of comics readers is useful in that it brings the latter concept into focus more clearly. Like a book club, a community of comics readers might be thought to consist of people who share a common interest in a particular form of reading material. Moreover, Hal’s experiences, both with his father and with individuals he met at the comic book conventions he attended, suggest that sponsors (Brandt, 2001) play an integral role in creating opportunities for members of a community of comics readers to talk about a shared form of reading material, much as the members of a book club
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might. At a local level, a family member or friend might adopt the role of sponsor. At a global level, any number of individuals might do so. Barry. Whereas Hal grew up surrounded by graphic novels, Barry came to them later in life. Neither his parents nor his siblings read comic books or graphic novels, and he recalled their having struggled to understand the interest he took in a form of reading material that was foreign to them. According to Barry, his first encounter with graphic novels occurred when, as a student in late elementary school, he came across a comic book store during an excursion to a mall with his older brother. Having been forced to “drag” his brother into the store, he spent time looking around. Still, it was not until he met Hal, whom he regarded as his best friend, that what was a passing interest in comics evolved into a fullfledged passion. Barry recalled: I actually met Hal, and he was already into the comics thing and he went like every week so I kind of just hitched a ride with him over there and then I started kind of reading weekly and stuff and actually started getting into stories really intensely and that's when it really started kind of taking off. Like when I was in middle school. (Individual Interview, 1, 34-38) In Barry’s case, Hal appeared to function as a sponsor (Brandt, 2001), at least so far as he made it possible for Barry to frequent a comic book store on a regular basis and purchase reading material. Asked at the conclusion of his individual interview whether there was anything else he thought might interest me or help me with my research, Barry provided an answer that is best described as serendipitous. He explained: Barry: Um, ((pause)) I think, well, I think there's actually two kinds of people that read graphic novels. One of them is the kind of people that are like born into it. Like their parents read, and maybe even still read, and they, you know, they're like not really, they're just kind of apathetic to it or they're like encouraging towards it. R.: Okay.
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Barry: But then there's other-- Like I think that would be more of a Hal role, 'cause his, you know, his father reads and is still even reading. But then if you look at other kinds of people like me, my parents and my siblings had no experience with them. And, um, and I kind of started on my own. You know, I'm just like looking through them and, you know, even they talk about it sometimes. Like especially when I started, but not really as much now just 'cause they're kind of used to it but-- I, I think those kinds of people are less open to it than somebody like Hal, just because, you know, this is, they've lived with this for as long as they can remember, and then I'm kind of new to this. It's like-- ((pauses, exhales)) I don't know, I’ll give you an ex-It's like how we kind of accept movies with color and sound so readily, but back when it started out they saw like color and sound as, you know, a cheap way to sell tickets in movies. I think it's just kind of your ability to be open with comic books. To other people. To talk about it. And it's, and as, as time goes on I think it gets easier just because it becomes more and more a part of your life and interests. Like not necessarily a big part of your life, but just how other people would talk about books, you kind of talk about comic books. (Individual Interview, 23-24, 1038-1059) Although he did not use the term per se, Barry’s comments, like Hal’s, suggest that he also was cognizant of a community of comics readers in relation to which one was positioned as more or less an insider (Soter, 1999). He observed, for example, that certain people (like Hal) were born into a family of comics readers, the result of which meant that their parents or siblings might “encourage” them to interact with graphic novels, an observation that is consistent with what I referred to as a sponsor role (Brandt, 2001) in chapter two. At the same time, Barry recognized that other people, like himself, made their way to graphic novels over time, the result of which positioned them as novices in relation to more experienced readers. Thus, in measuring himself against Hal, Barry was able to regard himself as “kind of new to this.” Barry’s remarks are also interesting in that, like Hal’s, they shed light on the processes wherein novices are brought into a community of comics readers. Consistent with research in the area of language socialization (Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986), it is a process in which language plays an important role. As conceptualized by Barry, one’s ability to appreciate the merit in graphic novels is contingent on one’s willingness to remain “open
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with comic books. To other people. To talk about it.” So long as novices are willing to do these things, he assumes that reading graphic novels will become “easier just because it becomes more and more a part of your life and interests,” an observation that echoes Vygotsky’s (1978) assertion that people internalize practices—including those that pertain to literacy—as they participate in them alongside more experienced others. Although Barry understood himself to have started reading comic books and graphic novels on his own, data analysis indicated that Hal and his father played an important role in supporting his efforts to do so. As explained, Hal ensured that Barry had access to comic books and graphic novels by inviting him to accompany him and his father on excursions to a local comic book store when they met in middle school. Equally important, however, he and his father created a context in which Barry was able to talk about the comic books and graphic novels he read with other readers, and practice what might be called comics literacy. In his individual interview, Barry explained that he talked with Hal and his father about comic books on a regular basis, often for hours. Asked to describe their conversations he explained: Just kind of go over to his house and just kind of, you know, talk about what we like-- Like what, what came out this month, or just what kind of we liked about everything or what we didn't like about everything. And just, like in general. Just kind of different artists and different writers and their styles and stuff. (Individual Interview, 24, 1078-1081) Hal described their conversations in a similar manner, and in doing so he suggested that there were occasions when Barry was at a disadvantage because he did not read new releases as frequently as he and his father did. Rather than exclude him from their conversations, however, Hal and his father instead appeared to support his ability to participate in them by filling in what they recognized as gaps in his understanding. To this end Hal explained:
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Hal: Um, some of the times we, we talk about-- Like we, we've read-- We'll ask, "Oh! I haven't read this yet. Uh, what, what's going on with that character? 'Cause, 'cause Barry doesn't get like books [monthly. So we'll= R.:
[Um, hmm.
Hal: =be like, so we'll be talking about characters that he doesn't, he hasn't been following, uh, too much. And we'll, we'll expla-- We'll, uh, we'll explain well, at this, at this time right now, and it's really cool because he's, you know, back in time or something. And then there are other times where we're like, "Yeah, I read that and, you know, I really think it would've been better if they did this or it would've been so much more meaningful if they did that. Or that was just pointless and they're just trying to sell a book.” (Individual Interview, 5, 214-226) By supporting Barry in this manner, Hal and his father brought him up-to-speed on characters and storylines with which he was unfamiliar. More importantly, they sponsored (Brandt, 2001) his entry into their community of comics readers, and ensured that he was able to participate in their conversations. Saki. In contrast to Hal and Barry, Saki had no experience reading Western graphic novels. Indeed, there were occasions when he observed that other “students participating [in the study] had mentioned that they'd all read similar things like Superman and Watchmen and stuff like that” (Individual Interview, 3, 82-84). For his part he explained, “I can’t say I know this all that well” (Individual Interview, 3, 110-114). He did, however, read manga, which he enjoyed immensely, and which he felt offered a greater array of storylines and genres than did Western graphic novels. Although there are distinct differences between manga and Western graphic novels, they share a number of conventions that are characteristic of the medium of comics, the result of which led me to regard Saki as one of the more experienced readers in the group.5
5
Perhaps the most significant difference between manga and graphic novels has to do with the direction in which they are read. In the United States, manga are generally published in a manner that adheres to the Japanese convention of reading from right-to-left, top-to-bottom, whereas Western graphic novels are read from left-to-right, top-to-bottom.
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Though he only reported having read manga for four years, Saki was considerably knowledgeable about it. Given the heavy homework load he faced as an honor student who took Advanced Placement courses at Hamilton High School, he found it difficult to read for pleasure during the school year. Nevertheless, he made a concerted effort to visit the public library on a regular basis, and he estimated that he read one or two volumes of manga per week. When school was not in session, he read manga more frequently, and he speculated that in the course of a single year he was likely to read “dozens of volumes” (Individual Interview, 4, 158). According to Saki, his younger sister introduced him to manga. Just how much experience she had reading manga prior to doing so, however, remained uncertain. Recounting a visit to the public library that occurred when he was in middle school he explained: Saki: Um, I actually found, uh, I actually heard about, uh, about it at the library from, um, my sister who had found it and was like, "Look at this!" R.: Um, hmm. Saki: And, um, and, uh, noticing that there's this kind of this comic book kind of thing. And, and, um, it was just, uh, an interesting story and so I read it and ended up getting some of the other volumes in the series. And then later found out that there were lots of other, um, similar things like at bookstores and stuff. Other series that are the same way. (Individual Interview, 3, 119-117) Noting that it was customary for him and his sister to introduce each other to books they read Saki explained, “Sometimes one of us may be into something and then we'll mention it to the other person and they might get interested in it too” (Individual Interview, 3, 135-137). He regarded his sister as someone he talked to about manga on a regular basis. Nevertheless, the precise role she played in their conversations was difficult to discern. Thus, while she appeared to function as a sponsor (Brandt, 2001) in that she introduced him to manga, there
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was no definitive evidence to suggest that this was the case. As such, Saki’s case may constitute an instance of disconfirming evidence so far as the sponsor construct is concerned. Like Hal and Barry, self-reports Saki provided indicated that he was also situated as a member of a community of comics readers. When he completed his reading interest survey he wrote, “My sister, my same writing friend, and several friends from school are also into manga, so we talk about the characters and stories a lot” (Reading Interest Survey, 5, Question #28). In his sophomore year he entered a second community of comics readers, a result of his decision to take part in a manga/anime club that was sponsored by a faculty member at the high school. The club met after school on Friday afternoons throughout the school year, and provided a context for students who were interested in manga and anime to talk about them with one another. Asked to describe the club’s structure Saki explained, “Um, it's, it's mainly just a, a group that gets together and just, uh, has time to talk about a common interest” (Individual Interview, 6, 256-257). His comment is noteworthy in that it calls to mind Hal’s definition of a “comics culture,” which he also construed as a community of individuals who gather with the intention of talking about a form of reading material in which they share a mutual interest. Hermione, Bill, and Sarah. There was no evidence to suggest that Hermione, Bill, or Sarah were situated as members of a community of comics readers. Although Hermione and Bill had experience reading manga, they did not do so with the degree of frequency Saki did. Likewise, they did not report talking about manga with other readers. Asked whether he talked about the comic books and graphic novels he read with others, Bill wrote, “Not normally” (Reading Interest Survey, 5, Question #28). He did, however, report talking about traditional literature with friends.
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At the insistence of friends—who appeared to function as sponsors (Brandt, 2001)— Hermione had read Watchmen, and she recalled having talked with them about characters she liked and “confusing parts” (Reading Interest Survey, 5, Question #28). Beyond that, however, she did not report talking about manga or graphic novels with other readers, nor did she understand herself to have remained in a community of comics readers. Like Bill, she recalled talking with friends—and, on occasion, her parents—about traditional literature she read. “My friends and I talked avidly,” she wrote, “about Harry Potter—predicting plots, sharing favorite lines, finding clues, etc. We were pretty into it” (Reading Interest Survey, 4, Question #27). She also reported talking with friends about Twilight, a series that was popular at the time my study took place. Sarah was the least experienced member of the reading group so far as her familiarity with works written in the medium of comics was concerned. Indeed, she regarded herself as “a blank slate in the graphic novel world,” and she attributed her decision to take part in a reading group that focused exclusively on them to her desire to experience new things. She seldom read comic strips, and she had only read one graphic novel, Watchmen, which she came across in the absence of a sponsor (Brandt 2001). “I read The Watchmen,” she wrote, “because I liked the cover and bought it without opening it from Discount Books. So, the cover is why I have read a graphic novel. But it had good content” (Reading Interest Survey, 5, Question #30). Though she enjoyed Watchmen, Sarah had not talked about it with others. Addressing this point she added, “although I wanted to” (Reading Interest Survey, 5, Question #28), which led me to conclude that she lacked an outlet for doing so. Like Hermione, Sarah talked with friends about the traditional literature she read. Indeed, she regarded herself as a member of a “book club” that she and two friends formed when they
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discovered that a popular young adult author was scheduled to visit Hamilton High School earlier in the year (Reading Interest Survey, 4, Question #27). Summary As the preceding discussion suggests, the participants ranged from highly experienced to inexperienced so far as their familiarity with graphic novels was concerned. A recurring theme in the data suggested that those individuals who routinely read graphic novels—or, in Saki’s case, manga—were situated as members of what I called a community of comics readers prior to participating in the study. As explained at the start of this chapter, in using the latter term I refer to a particular kind of community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), one whose members share an affinity for works written in the medium of comics, as well as a repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading and talking about them. Far from fixed, the boundaries of such a community appeared to be porous, the result of which made it possible for the participants to interact with members from other communities of comics readers as they moved from a local to a global level. Hence, Hal interacted with other readers at comics conventions he attended with his father, while Saki talked about manga with a small group of friends who enjoyed reading it, as well as with students who participated in an after-school manga/anime club. Indeed, their decision to participate in the reading group led the participants to interact with individuals from other communities of comics readers, myself included. In this sense, though I ostensibly refer to a community of comics readers, the term is not understood to constitute a monolith. Rather, one might more profitably refer to communities of comics readers, each of which has potentially developed its own strategies for reading and talking about graphic novels.
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As was seen, a sponsor (Brandt, 2001)—that is, a figure whose familiarity with comic books and graphic novels positioned them as a group insider (Soter, 1999) so far as comics literacy was concerned—appeared to facilitate the participants’ entrance into a community of comics readers, either by ensuring that they had access to graphic novels, or by setting up sites of interaction that enabled them to talk about graphic novels with other readers. It should be noted, however, that while Saki reported having been introduced to manga by his younger sister, a figure with whom he also claimed to talk about them, the precise role she played as a sponsor (Brandt, 2001) was difficult to discern. As such, I regarded his case as a possible instance of disconfirming evidence. There was no evidence to suggest that Bill, Hermione or Sarah, all of whom had considerably less experience reading graphic novels, were situated as members of a community of comics readers. Although Hermione read Watchmen at the insistence of friends, who seemed to function as sponsors (Brandt, 2001), and although she recalled having talked about the graphic novel with them, there was no evidence to suggest that she remained in a community of comics readers, or that she belonged to one at the time of the study. In regard to what I am calling a community of comics readers, the preceding discussion indicates that at a local level, a family member or a friend has the potential to adopt the role of sponsor (Brandt, 2001). Further out, a teacher (or, in my case, a researcher) might sponsor an after-school club devoted to talking about graphic novels. At still another remove, a person might talk about graphic novels with acquaintances at a comic book shop. At a more global level, an industry insider, such as an artist or writer, might adopt the role of sponsor, as might a group of strangers at a comic book convention. As seen in Figure 4.1, it is possible to represent the notion of communities of comics readers using a sequence of interconnecting circles. The points at which the circles overlap
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are understood to represent sites of interaction wherein individuals have the potential to interact with members of other communities of comics readers (e.g., a reading group, a comics convention). In such instances the potential exists for individuals to expand their repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for reading and talking about graphic novels by appropriating new strategies for doing so. This is accomplished as they talk with one another about graphic novels, a claim that is consistent with research in the area of language socialization (Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986). Because the borders of a community of comics readers are porous, I have chosen to represent them using dotted, as opposed to solid, lines in Figure 4.1. Although the bidirectional arrow denotes movement between a local and a global level, readers are not understood to move in a linear fashion. Indeed, it is possible that a person might never move beyond membership in a community of comics readers at a local level. That the circles grow progressively larger as they move from right to left is representative of an increase in the number of potential conversants with whom individuals are able to interact as they transition from a local to a global level.
Friends or Family
School Sponsored Clubs
Comic Book Shops Comic Book Conventions
LOCA L SP ON S ORS
Websites, Blogs, and Books About Comics
GLOBA L S P ON S OR S
Figure 4.1 – Communities of Comics Readers
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In constructing the aforementioned argument I do not mean to imply that individuals who exist apart from a community of comics readers are unable to read graphic novels. As will be seen later in this chapter, I found Sarah, Hermione, and Bill, none of whom were members of such a community, more than capable of doing so. Nor do I mean to suggest that there is a “right” way to read graphic novels. Quite the opposite, I wish to argue that is possible to read and talk about graphic novels in myriad ways, each of which reflects the objectives toward which the members of a particular community of comics readers envision themselves working. Likewise, I assume that people have the opportunity to appropriate new ways of reading and talking about graphic novels as they interact with readers from other communities, thereby broadening their repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for doing so. As graphic novels have drawn attention in academic circles, some literacy educators have cited a need to “teach” the conventions involved in reading them (Hammond, 2009; Rudiger, 2006). Having observed that students referred to comics conventions more often after she taught a lesson on them, Hammond (2009) concluded that “comics literacy requires training and experience” (p. 160). Although this assertion is not without merit, there remains a need to proceed with caution. Such an argument is seemingly premised on an autonomous (Street, 1984) view of comics literacy in that it overlooks the possibility that students might have cultivated different ways of reading and talking about graphic novels as a result of their situatedness in different communities of comics readers. Citing a need to teach the conventions involved in reading graphic novels potentially situates the school as the final arbiter on graphic novel reading, a position that it has historically occupied in relation to traditional literature, and one that literacy educators might ask whether they wish to perpetuate.
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Finding Two: Conceptions of Graphic Novels as a Form of Reading Material The second half of the first research question asked, “How do high school students conceive of graphic novels as a form of reading material?” So far as their conceptions of graphic novels as a form of reading material were concerned, there were three points on which the participants agreed. First, they were cognizant of stigmas that are attached to graphic novels, the most notable of which regards them as a childish form of reading material. Recognizing that image and word are characterized by different affordances, they resisted that view. Second, the participants conceived of graphic novels as falling into three categories: superhero graphic novels, manga, and what, borrowing a term one of the participants used, I referred to as “academic” graphic novels. Those who read only manga, or who had little experience reading Western graphic novels, tended to associate them with the superhero genre, which they held in low regard. Though they recognized that there were graphic novels that addressed substantive issues, they assumed that it was rare for them to do so. Those who read the superhero genre, on the other hand, insisted that graphic novels addressed a range of content, and argued that reading widely would reveal the extent to which they addressed socially relevant issues. Finally, the participants regarded the ability to read graphic novels as an undertaking that required little medium-specific knowledge beyond a general ability to read. This assertion was belied by comments they shared elsewhere in the study. Stigmas attached to graphic novels. Although they were open to the idea of reading graphic novels, a fact that was evidenced by their willingness to take part in an afterschool reading group devoted exclusively to them, the participants, like those in Hammond’s (2009) study, were cognizant of stigmas attached to them. The first regarded graphic novels as appropriate for children, but inappropriate for older, presumably more sophisticated
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readers. The participants also assumed that those who read graphic novels were likely to be regarded in a negative light. These stigmas are addressed in the sections to follow. Childish form of reading material. Asked at the beginning of the study whether they were aware of stigmas that are associated with graphic novels, the participants unanimously agreed that they were likely to be regarded as a puerile form of reading material. They attributed this view—which they insisted was a misperception—to a number of factors, one of which was their use of bright colors. Barry, for example, explained, “I think it’s like, you know, bright colors, you know? Big, you know, sound effects and stuff, and like colorful costumes and things. It’s like that seems like it would kind of draw kids in” (First Whole Group Interview, 20, 890-896). Hermione concurred, and in doing so she recalled an exchange that she had with her mother, who taught sociology courses at a nearby community college, and who asked her daughter to share her thoughts regarding a sample textbook she received from a publisher. Recounting their conversation Hermione explained: It had tons of graphs and pictures and, and bright colors and stuff and she said, “What did you think of it?” and I said, “I like it, and I think it's fun. ((laughs)) It held my attention well.” Then she's just like, ((imitates mother)) "Well I thought it looked too magazine-like and it was trying to be too, ((waves hands in the air)) "Whoahhhh!” (Second Whole Group Interview, 5, 200-204) Attempting to account for her mother’s reluctance to acknowledge the textbook as a credible academic resource, Hermione speculated, “I think there is that association, like if there’s going to be a bright color, like magazine-esque kind of thing, then it’s a lot harder to maybe take it real seriously” (Second Whole Group Interview, 5, 217-226). Another reason the participants assumed that graphic novels were regarded as childish had to do with the history of the form itself. Noting that early comic books (the graphic novel’s forbearer) lacked narrative complexity, Barry assumed that people had been led over time to associate them with stories for children, an expectation that, in his opinion,
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persisted though comic books had long since tackled substantive subject matter. Expanding on this observation, Saki suggested that in addition to relaying unsophisticated narratives about puerile subject matter, early comic books were intended for quick consumption: Saki: The way that graphic novels started was as pleasure reading, as, um, things like Superman and [such that= R.:
[Right.
Saki: =were for, um, for people, people to buy on the cheap and read quickly and not worry too, too much about what are the implications of this and just enjoy the barebones plot. (Individual Interview, 24, 1065-1072) Like Barry, he also assumed that this aspect of their legacy played a role in shaping contemporary perceptions of graphic novels. Until publishers made a concerted effort to challenge that history by introducing a greater number of graphic novels that dealt with mature subject matter and storylines, Saki assumed that public perceptions of them were unlikely to change, and that teachers were unlikely to use them in a classroom. An additional reason the participants suggested that graphic novels were likely to be regarded as childish pertained to their conjoining word and image, which they assumed led them to resemble picturebooks, a form of text that Western readers often encounter as children. Sarah, for instance, explained: Sarah: Well I think-- Well just, I mean when we are like in kindergarten the first thing we-- Or even before that, but I'm just saying [like school-based. Like= R.:
[Um, hmm.
Sarah: =the first thing we remember is pictures and words. R.: Okay. Sarah: So maybe it's just like a kind of like repressed memory and then like when you see that you're like, "Oh, pictures and words." Like you think of your youth or something. I don't, I don't know. (Second Whole Group Interview, 3, 110-121)
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Bill agreed, and shared his belief that images serve a didactic function when they are conjoined with written language in picturebooks: It also could be that we use images normally to demonstrate. Kind-- Like if we say something it makes it a lot easier to understand if we have an image behind it. So normally when we have like children's books we have a line of text and then an image that describes the text so it helps them learn. (Second Whole Group Interview, 3, 129-132) It is important to note that the relationship between the two sign systems—at least as Bill conceived of it—holds image subordinate to written language. That this view should continue to persist is attributable, perhaps, to an assumption that while images are helpful in supporting emergent readers, they are no longer needed once they have mastered the written word. Hal attributed the prevalence of the latter view to the emphasis educators place on written language. In doing so he explained: All through school you go from like, uh, textbooks with big colorful pictures, and less words with bigger print, and then it gets smaller print, less pictures, and on and on until like college where you have very few pictures and then mostly text. (Second Whole Group Interview, 3, 141-143) In his opinion, people were likely to dismiss graphic novels as an inconsequential art form because they intermingle word and image, and as such are neither wholly literature nor wholly art, at least not as the two are traditionally conceived. “They dwell between the written word and the drawn aspects of art,” Hal explained. “I think that shies away from pure literature” (Second Whole Group Interview, 2, 78-82). Negative perceptions of graphic novel readers. Whereas the aforementioned stigma pertains to graphic novels as a form of reading material, the participants assumed that those who read them were subject to stigmas as well. Specifically, they assumed that individuals who read graphic novels were likely to be construed as social misfits, a view they credited the media with perpetuating. Sarah, for example, referred to a popular television show that
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featured a male character that worked in a comic book store and read comic books. Her remarks implicitly reinforce the notion that individuals who read comic books are regarded in a negative light: Well I guess just media has always kind of like the nerdy guys who are always in the comic book stores, and I mean on The OC Seth Cohen like does the whole-- Like he works at a comic book store and I never saw, there weren't ever any girls in there and like it's just kind of like, you know, like action figures. That kind of--Com-- Graphic novels, action figures. I kind of, ((pause)) put those two together. (Individual Interview, 5, 201-205) On another occasion Hermione, having observed that comic books and graphic novels are regarded as a form of low brow reading material, suggested that when she thought of them she had the image of a “fat, hobo, greasy guy like picking up Spiderman somewhere” (First Whole Group Interview, 21, 934-935), a less than flattering portrait. The notion that the media portray individuals who read graphic novels in a negative light surfaced on another occasion. As the participants debated the extent to which stigmas surrounding graphic novels had begun to lessen during the first whole group interview, the following exchange occurred: Sarah: I think like videogames and graphic novels kind [of, ((pause)) like-Barry:
[Coincide.
Sarah: Yeah. [Like people-- It seems= Hermione:
[((to Barry)) ###.
Sarah: =like, like in the media those people like are portrayed one way. Like graphic novels-- What do they call it? Like comic books and video games, like those people are over there, and then like literature, like intellectuals, they’re over here. Barry: And I don’t think it should be that way. Sarah: Yeah, and it’s not-- It’s just how the media portrays it. It’s not, like, really what we think. (First Whole Group Interview, 21-22, 955-970)
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Again, this distinction between a so-called “intellectual” audience that reads literature and the audience that reads comic books or graphic novels reinforces a view of the latter form of text as a substandard (or puerile) form of reading material. If literature is regarded as the domain of intellectuals, then graphic novels must, perforce, appeal to an audience that is intellectually inferior. Challenging stigmas attached to graphic novels. Though they were cognizant of the aforementioned stigmas, the participants did not subscribe to them. They especially resisted the idea that texts that make use of images are innately childish. In doing so they argued that images lend themselves to addressing some ends more readily than written language, an observation that echoes the concept of affordances, which according to Jewitt and Kress (2003) can “be understood as what it is possible to express and represent readily, easily, with a [semiotic] mode, given its materiality and given the cultural and social history of that mode” (p. 14). Saki, for example, observed, “I think that, um, some sort of picture, or, or a text that, that those sorts of things have the potential to convey messages in different ways depending on the way they're presented as, as well as the combination of the two” (Second Whole Group Interview, 6, 272-274). In his opinion, the extent to which a message that incorporated images was regarded as “literary” was dependent on the manner in which a writer or artist chose to present it, as opposed to a deficiency inherent in the mode itself. Hermione recognized that images were characterized by a unique set of affordances as well. Noting that she found the prospect of reading textbooks that make use of dense written language cumbersome, she explained that there were occasions when images helped her to think about concepts in ways that written language did not. She explained: Hermione: Well I can't-- ((laughs)) I don't know, maybe it's just 'cause I'm kind of predisposed to being annoyed by all these textbooks that are just like solid blocks of test-- text ‘cause that just turns me off wanting to truck through the whole page right
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there. But I think it helps 'cause it, well it breaks it up a little bit and it makes it eas-Like sometimes when there's just a solid block of text I can't really-- I mean it's harder for me to read than if there's, I don't know, more #. Also if, I mean if it's like a textbook then I kind of want to see what's going on 'cause they don't usually go into depth like what it actually looked like. It's just, "This happened" and moves on. Like #, our history textbook right now is very-- ((pause)) It doesn't really talk about the personal lives or anything [so-- It's just= R.:
[Okay.
Hermione: =sort of like I want to see what the house looked like, or maybe what sort of the, ((pause)) the layout of the city was, or how destroyed that was or something like that. (Second Whole Group Interview, 4, 159-173) This is not to suggest that the participants privileged image at the expense of written language. To the contrary, they recognized that written language was characterized by its own affordances. Hal, for example, observed that written language made it possible for authors to work in metaphor, something he assumed proved more difficult for artists. He explained, “Like, uh, you, you can use more artistic word play with it. Like you can compare something to a-- I don't know. You can say that this chair, table is like a gigantic chocolate bar or something. I don't know” (First Whole Group Interview, 26, 1170-1172). The participants agreed that readers would likely struggle to make sense of the same metaphor were an artist to draw an image of a chocolate bar, a proposition that led Hal to exclaim, “I, I’d probably put the book down” (First Whole Group Interview, 26, 1179-1180). Categories of graphic novels. Wolk (2007) conceptualizes comics as falling into three categories: 1) mainstream comics, which he suggests are closely aligned with the superhero genre, and which are created by a team of writers and artists; 2) manga, the Japanese equivalent of American comics; and 3) art comics, which are the product of a single creator, and which privilege individual style. Though their definitions differed, the participants conceived of graphic novels as falling into three similar categories: 1) superhero graphic novels, 2) manga, and 3) academic graphic novels. Those who lacked experience
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reading superhero comics, or who read only manga, were likely to conceive of graphic novels as a form of pleasure reading that necessitated little thought. Those who read superhero comics, on the other hand, defended the genre, insisting that it addressed a range of content, and was capable of exploring socially relevant issues. All of the participants were cognizant of a third category of graphic novels, one that they assumed tackled complex issues and substantive themes, but which remained unnamed. Building on a phrase that Barry introduced during his individual interview—“academic comic books”—I came to refer to this category as academic graphic novels. Superhero graphic novels, manga, and academic graphic novels. The participants who had less experience reading graphic novels, or who only read manga, tended to associate the former with the superhero genre, which they held in low regard. While they recognized that graphic novels such as Maus and Watchmen addressed substantive issues in a thoughtful manner, they assumed that such books were relatively rare. With the exception of Watchmen, which she had read two years prior to participating in the study, Sarah had no experience reading graphic novels. Although she appreciated the subject matter Watchmen addressed, her comments indicated that she regarded it as something of an outlier so far as graphic novels were concerned. Asked to account for her expectations of graphic novels prior to taking part in the reading group Sarah explained: I didn't think they were going to be so like thought provoking. I thought-- Like I don't want to keep going back to Watchmen, but I thought that was kind of in a category of its own as the content of graphic novels. (Individual Interview, 4, 142144) Beyond Watchmen, Sarah equated graphic novels with the superhero genre, which she characterized as “kind of a boy thing” (Individual Interview, 6, 235), and which held little, if any, appeal for her.
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Like Sarah, Hermione also seemed to equate graphic novels with the superhero genre. On one occasion she noted that she had no experience reading “superhero crap,” an assessment that spoke volumes about her conception of their literary worth (First Whole Group Interview, 16, 727). She did, however, have experience reading manga, which she regarded as a guilty pleasure, and which she had subsequently come to believe lacked substance. She explained: Hermione: Yeah, I'm-- ((pause)) I mean I, I don't read them as much anymore ['cause I= R.: [Right. Hermione: =stopped, but the thing about those is I mean, ((pause)) they don't have very much-- I've just started noticing this has no substance whatsoever. Like Fruits Basket, it's, they're, it's kind of all-- I mean I would sort of compare it to Twilight. It's like just they're sort of on the same level as like, you know, I would almost say that. (Individual Interview, 3, 124-131) Although she recognized that works written in the medium of comics were capable of telling thought-provoking stories, her experiences reading manga led Hermione to conclude that they were an exception to the rule. Like the informants in Allen and Ingulsrud’s (2003) study, she conceived of manga as a form of reading material that enabled her to take a “break,” and afforded her a pleasurable experience (Individual Interview, 4, 170). Bill construed graphic novels as falling into the categories of manga and the superhero genre as well, though like Sarah and Hermione, he, too, acknowledged a third category that addressed deeper issues, but remained nameless. He regarded manga as a form of pleasure reading that, unlike traditional literature, seldom challenged him to think deeply. Accounting for his reading preferences during the first whole group interview he explained, “I actually enjoy reading normal books for intellectual needs as, like, novels, versus enjoyment for a graphic novel, or just for simple storyline, graphic novel” (First Whole
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Group Interview, 24, 1087-1089). In the weeks that followed he returned to this point, and in doing so he introduced a framework that construed reading as falling into two categories. He explained: Bill: Well my step-mom, uh, actually puts two different types of reading. There's informational reading, where you're getting your, like, moral story [or facts, and= R.:
[Yeah.
Bill: =then there's brain candy. She calls it that. Um, it's just anything that you can read for short, sort of a simple plot line where there could be a complex, you know, twist in the plot line but you can follow it pretty easily because it's, you know, out in the open and they talk about it. R.: Um, hmm. Bill: And I've kind of used that as demonstration for a lot of the manga I've read. Um, not necessarily something like Night Fisher or things like that but, um, manga and a lot of the simpler videogames, we call those brain candy too [so-R.:
[Okay.
Bill: Just anything that's easy to follow. (Individual Interview, 5-6, 216-234) This binary, which construed graphic novels and manga as “brain candy,” attested to the manner in which Bill, Sarah, and Hermione generally conceived of them as a form of reading material. While they acknowledged the existence of a third (albeit nameless) category of graphic novels that explored deeper issues, they assumed that it was relatively small. Graphic novels were, in their opinion, synonymous with the superhero genre, a category that, like manga, they regarded as a form of escapist reading. Saki read a considerable amount of manga, which he preferred to Western graphic novels. “They do a lot more different, uh, different sorts of things,” he explained. “Whereas in American graphic novels they're, they're a lot more of them, at least the mainstream ones that are, um, superhero focused or whatever” (Individual Interview, 2, 80-82). Though experience led him to conclude that works written in the medium of comics were generally
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frivolous, he recognized that they had the potential to address complex issues as well. Attesting to this point he explained: Saki: Um, nowadays I see a lot of-- This, this is in terms of all types of media. Things on television, regular novels, movies, all sorts of things. There, there, there's kind of, um, it's, it's, I think this may be a bit of an arbitrary distinction but there's kind of a line between certain types of things that are kind of, uh, fun-filled romp type of thing? R.: Uh, huh. Saki: And, and things that get into more deep themes, more, um, diff-- um, different types of philosophical questions and things. Bring up things to ponder or think about afterwards. R.: Right. Saki: And, um, and not just make an interesting plot in and of itself. You know what I mean? [Something that, something that= R.:
[Um, hmm.
Saki: =could, could be perhaps looked at as literature. (Individual Interview, 9-10, 398-416) When he completed his reading interest survey Saki expressed his belief that graphic novels had the potential to be literary. He tempered his claim, however, by adding that this was likely to prove true of “mainly manga” (Reading Interest Survey, 5, Question #31). Hal and Barry, who preferred superhero comic books to manga, acknowledged a third category of graphic novels as well. Indeed, Barry gave it a name—“academic comic books” (Individual Interview, 16, 712)—a label that stemmed from his belief that these works were afforded more prestige than mainstream graphic novels, the result of which led educators to accept them, and allowed those who read them to avoid ridicule. Adapting that term, I used it to refer to the third category of graphic novels the participants recognized, but did not name. In doing so I called it “academic graphic novels.” Though Barry and Hal conceded that superhero narratives were generally action-
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oriented, they insisted that they were capable of addressing issues that were socially and culturally relevant as well. During the first whole group interview Barry recalled having read a graphic novel in which Black Panther, a superhero in the Marvel universe, struggled against apartheid in South Africa. He also recalled a story in which the character Thor visited New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and wondered why other superheroes, who Barry interpreted as an allegory for the United States government, failed to intervene and help the storm’s victims in the weeks following the catastrophe. Similarly, Hal recalled a series of comic books that were published in the 1980s and addressed the tense relationship between the United States and the Soviet Union. That people were unfamiliar with superhero narratives of this sort was, in his opinion, attributable to their lack of familiarity with comic books and graphic novels in general. Like Hal, Barry assumed that educators who dismissed graphic novels as a substandard or childish form of reading material were likely to rethink that position if they took time to explore the range of material that was available to readers. In addressing that point he referred to a third category of “more intellectual, more academic” graphic novels that he assumed teachers would value if only they took the time to read them: Barry: Um, I think teachers that say they, they wouldn't do it in class are kind of, they're just not aware of certain books that you can look at. Like they're, they're more familiar with the like superhero things or the science fiction or whatever. And they're just not kind of aware of the more intellectual books, more academic books that have kind of commentary on, you know, different subjects that they're actually looking into . . . But obviously I think the teachers would-- Especially as, like since they're from kind of the generation before us they have the notions about comic books that they had bef-- And it was even more kind of, um, I don't know the word but just-- I think we're more, in our generation we're more open to read them than they would have been. So it's kind of like what they're thinking about their ideas of it. R.: Okay. Barry: So they just kind of wouldn't have the knowledge that there are intelligent books out [there that you=
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R.:
[Right.
Barry: =can read, that you can read and really get a lot out of. And they're just kind of thinking of more like the sup-- the, the really brightly colored, you know, childtype stories. (Individual Interview, 22-23, 986-1009) Provided teachers were willing to survey the field of graphic novels, Barry assumed that they would come to appreciate their potential literary merit, leading them to question the stigmas to which they had previously subscribed. Accessible form of reading material. The participants were found to have conceived of graphic novels as an accessible form of reading material that made use of written language sparingly, and that was consequently easily consumed. Barry, for example, found it easier to finish reading a graphic novel than he did a novel. “Not because of the pictures,” he explained, “but just because of the, there’s fewer words I guess” (Individual Interview, 4, 166-167). Hal concurred, and suggested that the dense language in prose fiction made it difficult for him to recall memorable lines or passages. “Books are just extremely-They're, they're long,” he explained, “and, and if, if the author was like, ‘Oh, I'll write this sentence down, I love it,’ you, you might forget it” (Individual Interview, 17, 718-719). Conversely, he felt that the inclusion of images in graphic novels, which exist before the reader on the page, made doing so easier for him. Minimal time investment. To a person, the participants agreed that reading graphic novels entailed less of a time commitment than did traditional works of literature. Indeed, the concept of “time” surfaced frequently in the interview transcripts, as did references to the speed with which the participants reported reading graphic novels and manga. Bill, for example, noted that he “read them fairly quickly” (Individual Interview, 27, 1205), and Hermione estimated that she was able to read a volume of manga “in an hour or so” (Individual Interview, 4, 161). She also recalled that when a middle school teacher made
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Maus available as independent reading in a unit that focused on the Holocaust, many of her classmates chose to read it in lieu of a traditional novel because they assumed they could do so more quickly, thereby ensuring that they had additional time to write the assigned final essay. Like the other participants, Saki observed that graphic novels were “short and easy to read” (First Whole Group Interview, 24, 1078), while Sarah speculated that the ease with which graphic novels were consumed constituted a reason why teachers were potentially reluctant to use them in the classroom. “You know you can just flip through and look at the pictures and pretty much get the whole like thing of what happened in the graphic novel,” she explained, “and that's a lot easier so teachers probably fear that” (Individual Interview, 21, 928-930). Knowledge needed to read graphic novels. The idea that graphic novels are “easy” to read constituted a recurring theme in the data. Beyond knowing how to read print text, and beyond possessing a sense of familiarity with the subject matter a book addressed, the participants characterized reading graphic novels as a relatively straightforward undertaking that required little medium-specific knowledge. They did, however, cite manga, which is generally published in a manner that adheres to the Japanese convention of reading from right-to-left, top-to-bottom, as a possible exception. Hermione recalled an occasion when she shared manga with her father, who grew frustrated with it and exclaimed, “I can’t read this!” She consequently assumed that the ability to read manga might entail “slight special knowledge” (First Whole Group Interview, 25, 1137-1141), an observation with which the other members of the group concurred. Beyond that, however, the participants agreed with Barry, who insisted that the only prerequisite to interacting with graphic novels was “just being able to read” (First Whole Group Interview, 25, 1107).
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Though they were insistent about this point, there were occasions when the participants appeared to contradict themselves. This was particularly true of those who had more experience reading works written in the medium of comics. On one occasion Barry indicated that he knew people who struggled to make sense of conventions that are associated with comics, and who consequently required support. Recounting his experiences with such readers he explained: 'Cause I know people that just can't for the life of them ((laughs)) understand that you go box, box, box, box, box, box. Or word balloons they don't get. And, and you just kind of have to be like, "Okay, this is how you read word balloons. This is how you read the boxes." And then you can tell them-- And then it's just like a normal book. (Individual Interview, 18, 802-806) His comments are interesting in that they foreground the role more experienced readers—or what I referred to as sponsors (Brandt, 2001) earlier in this chapter—play in supporting novices. When I asked Barry whether he thought artistic knowledge had any bearing on a person’s experience reading graphic novels, he again indicated that he was familiar with readers who were befuddled by certain conventions, this time artistic: It's just my experience with people don't get things like just basic art-- artistic things like foreshortening. They don't understand. They're like why is-- Ask about how his, why is this arm so, so short and why this arm isn't, or how come his, he doesn't have any feet when his feet are like running off the page or something. (Individual Interview, 18, 823-826) That Barry regarded foreshortening as a “basic artistic thing” is notable, as is the fact that he went on to characterize it and other conventions as “simple stuff” (Individual Interview, 18, 834). In both instances his remarks indicate that he may have underestimated the degree of knowledge he brought to graphic novels as an experienced reader. If Barry regarded conventions related to art and comics as potential obstacles for readers who were unfamiliar with them, Saki assumed that they were capable of influencing the meanings readers construct in their transactions with graphic novels. To be sure, he
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acknowledged the possibility of grasping a text’s plot without recognizing the conventions it employed: I think that sometimes when you're, when you're reading something you just look at it on face value. Especially with a graphic novel. You, you see that, oh, this person went here, or this person hit something or other. You know what I mean? And you see the actual thing that happened. (Individual Interview, 14, 597-600) Nevertheless, he drew a distinction between comprehending an image on a surface level, and interpreting its deeper meanings: But sometimes someone will say something or someone will do something and that action that they did, it implies something behind why they did it. You, you can infer that there, that there's a meaning more than just that they did this action. That it means something. You know what I mean? (Individual Interview, 14, 600-604) Comments Saki shared during the same interview suggested that he regarded readers as moving from comprehension to interpretation when they drew on the conventions available to them in graphic novels and used them to construct meaning. For example, he explained: Saki: Often, um, often times a sort of shading or, or, um, facial expressions or things in the background, the way a panel's presented can, uh, can imply something in what's going on in it. Can imply that there might be some significance if it's a close up to a character in the way they say something that, that's, that-- This is often done in lots of comics. That there'll be, it'll zoom in when someone says something that has a significance to it. And, and if you just go right past it then it's as simple as, "They said this. It was close up." But if you, if you, if you, uh, take your time and think about it you can often think of, "Why would that be an important thing to say? What's the meaning of that?" R.: Yeah. Yeah. Saki: That you could pass by if you're not looking for it. (Individual Interview, 14, 608-620) One might assume that the ability to ask a question such as the one Saki foregrounded— “What’s the meaning of that?”—is contingent on one’s being familiar with the conventions he foregrounded. That is, readers who are unfamiliar with literary, artistic, or comics
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conventions, or who lack the interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) needed to work with them, might not recognize them as present in the repertoire (Iser, 1978) of a graphic novel, leading them to overlook them entirely. Like Saki, Barry acknowledged the possibility of reading graphic novels on two levels. This was evident when, during the initial meeting of the reading group, he explained: You can probably read it on some level, like even if you're just getting the surface, by like, uh, somebody, you know, go into space and like fighting aliens or something. You can get that story, but if you want to go more in-depth you can read it and you can see like, you know, different things that they represent, or what's, what it's actually trying to say. (Individual Interview, 26, 1148-1152) His observation, in concert with the comments Saki shared above, is noteworthy for several reasons. First, though they insisted that readers had only to possess a general ability to read—which they interpreted as an ability to decode written text, and move from left-to right, top-to-bottom—in order to transact with graphic novels, the observations that Barry and Saki shared indirectly suggest that as more experienced readers, they drew on knowledge that is specific to the medium of comics—in this case, the range of artistic and comics-related conventions graphic novels employ. Second, their comments indicate that graphic novels— and, more specifically, images—are capable of being read on two levels: a surface level, which involves comprehending the people, events, and actions they depict, and a deeper level, which entails a move toward interpretation, and requires readers to draw on their knowledge of the conventions that artists employ. To read a graphic novel on the latter level, readers have first to recognize those conventions, an undertaking that necessitates their being familiar with the language of comics (Eisner, 1985; McCloud, 1993: Varnum & Gibbons, 2001). In that sense it involves a kind of “insider” knowledge (Soter, 1999). Put another way, the conventions—or grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001)—that readers encounter
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in graphic novels might be thought to constitute part of a repertoire (Iser, 1978) they share with other readers, as well as with those who create them. In addition to understanding the conventions they employ, Hal assumed that people who possess an artistic sensibility were likely to have a richer experience reading graphic novels. He explained: I think they've got to have a, a real appreciation for how the artist has depicted the picture in the book. Um, they, they've got to-- I mean you've got to look at it and you've got to, you, you've got to feel something. If, if you, if you look at, if you look at this and you just see, "Oh, that's, that's a picture" you're not, you're not really getting it. If you look at that and you see, ((pause, exhales)) and you see all of the emotion behind it, you see, "Oh, the artist did this for a reason. He really, he really wanted to make something known," then you're, you're getting it. (Individual Interview, 14, 613-620) Again, Hal’s comments, like those Barry and Saki shared, point to the interpretive moves readers make, and suggest that images are capable of being read on multiple levels. Summary As the preceding discussion indicates, the participants were cognizant of two stigmas attached to graphic novels. The first regarded them as a childish form of reading material, while the second assumed that those who read graphic novels were likely to be construed as social misfits. For their part, they were unwilling to dismiss texts that made use of images as innately childish. To the contrary, they argued that image, like written language, is characterized by distinct affordances (Jewitt & Kress, 2003), and they regarded the ability to commingle the two signs systems as an advantage. The participants also conceived of graphic novels as falling into three categories: 1) superhero graphic novels, 2) manga, and 3) academic graphic novels. Those who had less experience reading them, or who read only manga, tended to associate graphic novels with the superhero genre, a category that held little appeal for them. Although they were
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cognizant of a third category of graphic novels that addressed more serious subject matter— but which for them remained unnamed—they assumed that such books were uncommon. Hal and Barry, on the other hand, read superhero graphic novels, and insisted that while many of them were action-oriented, they were also capable of tackling issues that were socially and culturally relevant. In this sense they, too, were cognizant of a third category of graphic novels, one that Barry deemed “academic,” a result of his believing that they were afforded a sense of prestige denied mainstream comics. Building on that term I referred to the third category the participants acknowledged as academic graphic novels. Finally, the participants conceived of graphic novels as an accessible form of reading material that uses written language sparingly. They regarded themselves as being able to read them quickly, and they suggested that interacting with graphic novels entailed less of time commitment than traditional literature. Although they cited manga as a possible exception, they assumed that the ability to read graphic novels was a straightforward undertaking that required little medium-specific knowledge beyond a general ability to read print text and adhere to the Western convention of reading from left-to-right, top-to-bottom. Comments the participants who had more experience reading graphic novels shared seemed to contradict the latter position. Although Saki, Hal, and Barry observed that it was possible to read a graphic novel on a surface level and comprehend its plot, they also pointed to the possibility of reading the same text on a deeper level. As was seen, they assumed that doing so required readers to draw on conventions that are part of a graphic novel’s repertoire (Iser, 1978). Analysis of Findings for Research Question Two The second research question that framed my study asked, “What semiotic resources do high school students draw on as they read graphic novels, and in what ways do they work
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with them?” Bloome and Egan-Robertson (1993) observe that “whether with others or alone, a person is acting and reading in response to other people, what they have done, what they are doing, and what they will do” (p. 309). Recognizing this, and acknowledging that the participants and I were likely to negotiate the resources that were available for constructing meaning as we talked with one another about the graphic novels we read in the context of the reading group discussions, I opted to map the repertoire (Iser, 1978) of resources on which the group, as opposed to individuals, drew. As conceptualized by the New London Group (1996), reading and writing constitute processes in which people draw on Available Designs—that is, patterns that a particular group has come to associate with semiotic resources as a result of their use over time—to design new texts and new meanings. According to the New London Group (1996), these “Available Designs—the resources for Design—include the ‘grammars’ of various semiotic systems: the grammars of languages, and the grammars of other semiotic systems such as film, photography, or gesture” (p. 74). As explained in chapter two, grammars are not understood to constitute restrictive rules that govern the use of semiotic resources. Rather, as Halliday (1978) observes, they represent a “resource for making meaning” (p. 191). Nor are grammars universal. Quite the opposite, they are better understood as resources that are socially and culturally derived. As such they are subject to contest and negotiation. The above discussion has implications so far as my study is concerned. First, in the case of graphic novels, which make use of multiple semiotic resources, I assume that a text’s repertoire (Iser, 1978) will include Available Designs (New London Group, 1996) not only for written language, but also for image, gesture, color, and so forth, a point for which Jacobs (2007) has convincingly argued. By examining the resources on which the participants drew, I assumed that it would be possible to map the repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies
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(Fish, 1980) they brought to their transactions with graphic novels, and consider the ways in which they went about constructing meaning. Analysis of the response journals, as well as transcripts of the individual interviews and four whole group discussions, indicated that the semiotic resources on which the participants drew to construct meaning in their transactions with the graphic novels they read fell into five categories. For organizational purposes, I found it useful to group them using categories of Available Designs that were identified by the New London Group (1996). These included a visual design; audio design; spatial design; and linguistic design. Additionally, I refer to a color design, a category whose heading I created. As will be seen, the category of visual design consisted of five subcategories: mimetic forms; perspective; facial expressions; recurring and disrupted patterns; and image as symbol. Likewise, the category of color design consisted of three subcategories: color as expressive form; color as tactile experience; and color as conventional sign. As explained in chapter three, the findings reported in this chapter represent recurring themes in the data. A second coder did not validate them, and I am unable to report the frequency with which they occurred. These limitations are addressed in chapter five. In mapping the semiotic resources on which the participants drew, my intention was to establish categories for use in a coding scheme that future research might apply to think-aloud protocols, a point that I also address in chapter five. The semiotic resources the participants drew on as they read the graphic novels, and the manner in which they used them to construct meaning, are examined in the sections to follow. Finding One: Visual Design Eisner (2002) argues that artists convey meaning through three modes—mimetic forms, expressive forms, and conventional signs. In working with mimetic forms, he
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suggests that artists work with “forms that look or sound like what they are intended to represent” (p. 15). Expressive forms, on the other hand, are used to communicate affective information. Finally, Eisner (2002) defines conventional signs as “socially agreed upon symbols that refer to ideas, objects, or events and the like” (p. 18). These modes provide a useful framework for thinking about the ways in which the participants interacted with the visual design of the graphic novels they read, and they are periodically referred to in the discussion to follow. Mimetic forms. In working with the visual design of the graphic novels they read, the participants drew on mimetic forms (Eisner, 2002)—that is, forms that are intended to look like that which they represent in the world outside the text—and synthesized them to construct an understanding of the setting in which a narrative took place, or to make evaluative judgments about characters they encountered. In some instances they drew on mimetic forms to construct a history for characters that was not otherwise stated in the text. The interpretations the participants developed as they worked with mimetic forms were often tentative in that as they continued reading and encountered new visual information they were unable to accommodate in the framework they were constructing, they were led to backtrack and revise their interpretations, a practice that is suggestive of what Langer (1995) refers to as “being out and stepping into an envisionment.” According to Langer, readers who adopt this stance perform “a broad search in order to form initial ideas and suppositions about the characters, plot, setting, situation—and how they interrelate” (p. 16). In doing so, she argues, they draw on their “knowledge and experiences, surface features of the text, and any other available clues” (p. 16). Establishing setting. As explained, the participants drew on mimetic forms (Eisner, 2002) in the visual design of the graphic novels they read to situate a story in a particular
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setting. At the outset of Night Fisher, the second graphic novel the group read, readers encounter a sequence of maps that depict islands labeled “East Maui” and “West Maui” at different points in their geologic history.6 Technically, these images constitute a paratextual feature in that they exist outside the actual narrative. Nevertheless, several of the participants drew on them as resource for making meaning, and used them to locate the narrative in the state of Hawaii. For some of the participants this was a relatively seamless activity, although it did lead them to face larger questions. Upon encountering the maps when he began reading, Saki wrote in his response journal, “This is a geological map of Hawaii’s volcanic formation, right? Why is the book starting out with this? Could it mean something in the story?” (Night Response Journal, p. 1). Others drew on the images of the maps to construct interpretations they soon revised. Hermione, for example, wrote, “It took me a minute to figure out what the maps/stages were—I thought each was a shell at first glance. But now I’m sure they’re maps of the growing/shrinking of Hawaiian Islands. So it’s in Hawaii?” (Night Response Journal, p. 1). Perhaps because they constituted a paratextual feature, not all of the participants appeared to acknowledge the maps when they began reading Night Fisher. Sarah, for instance, either ignored them all together, or glossed over them. As a result, she struggled to locate the setting in which the story took place. Each time she constructed an interpretation, she encountered new information in the visual design of the graphic novel that struck her as 6
The argument that I am constructing here underscores a challenge involved in trying to understand how readers construct meaning in their transactions with multimodal texts. Though I am ostensibly discussing the role images played in allowing the participants to infer the story’s setting, the maps to which I refer made use of written language to label the depicted islands. Thus, whether the participants referred to the text’s visual design or linguistic design in developing a sense of the story’s setting is uncertain. Most likely, they made use of the two sign systems. However, since they distinctly referred to images in their response journals, I argue that they drew on them as the principal design element.
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contradictory. Unable to accommodate this visual information in the interpretive framework she was constructing, she abandoned it and began anew, the result of which led her to engage in the sort of backtracking described above. In the opening sequence of Night Fisher readers encounter an image of a teenage boy fishing in what, given the magnitude of the waves crashing along the shore, appears to be an ocean. In the pages that follow a car is seen racing along a street lined with suburban homes, behind which a mountain rises in the background. Drawing on mimetic forms (Eisner, 2002) she encountered in these pages, and synthesizing them to locate the setting of the story, Sarah wrote, “Judging by the illustrations, I think the setting is in Washington State, maybe Oregon” (Night Response Journal, p. 1). Upon reading the next page, however, she encountered visual information that challenged that interpretation. Faced with images of palm trees and yucca plants she wrote, “Now the setting looks like Nevada or maybe California” (p. 1). This interpretation held for another three pages, but then she came across a passage of exposition in which the main character, recounting a joke his father often told, informs the reader, “He applies it to his golf game. To Hawaii’s economy, and most often to the Jurassic Park annex in front of our house” (Johnson, 2005, p. 15). In this instance the graphic novel’s linguistic design led Sarah to revise her interpretation, and in her response journal she wrote, “I guess they’re in Hawaii” (p. 1). A similar episode occurred when Hermione read Pride of Baghdad, an allegory that explores the effects of the Second Persian Gulf War on non-combatants. Like Animal Farm, the narrative makes use of personified animals. At one point in the story two of the protagonists, both of them lions, enter an abandoned building in pursuit of food. As depicted in Figure 4.2, the building is dimly lit and characterized by vaulted ceilings, elaborate
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Figure 4.2 – Panel from Pride of Baghdad (no pagination) architecture, and ornate decorations. An immense painting of a winged-lion occupies a space on the far wall, and one of the lions is depicted in front of what appears to be a series of marble steps that lead to a raised platform. At the center of the structure is an ornate chair decorated in gold and purple. Based on the mimetic forms (Eisner, 2002) available in the image’s visual design, Hermione assumed that the lions had entered a church. “Wow,” she wrote in her response journal, “dramatic church interior. Is that a lion of babylon [sic]? How eerie. She looks really frightened. What is the significance of the picture? Is the place holy?” (Pride Response Journal, p. 13). This interpretation held as she read the following page. Faced with the image of an opulent swimming pool a page later, however, she was led to revisit the interpretation she had constructed. As if responding to the question she posed in her previous entry—“Is the place holy?”—she wrote, “No, the pool makes it seem more like a palace or something” (Pride Response Journal, p. 14).
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Evaluating characters. In addition to synthesizing mimetic forms (Eisner, 2002) to locate the setting in which a story took place, the participants drew on them to make evaluative judgments about characters they encountered. In Night Fisher, the main character, Loren, is prompted by friends to abandon the straight-and-narrow path he walked throughout high school in favor of an underworld marked by drug use and petty crime. His descent into this new world begins when he accompanies Shane, a friend, to a run-down looking home. Although neither Loren nor the audience is aware of it at the time, Shane has brought him there with the intention of purchasing—and using—drugs. Upon entering the house, Shane leads Loren into a dimly lit room and introduces him to Jon, the owner of the property. Because he is shown at an angle, and because the brim of his cap is pulled low over his eyes, readers are initially unable to view the character’s face. Although the character is depicted from Loren’s perspective in a subsequent panel, a lack of light ensures that the upper portion of his body remains submerged in shadows, prohibiting readers from viewing his face. When he encountered the image of Jon cloaked in shadows, Hal made an evaluative judgment about the character and wrote, “Looks like a murderer.” To support that interpretation he referred to the manner in which the cartoonist made use of ink, noting, “It looks like blood splatter around him to [sic]” (Night Response Journal, p. 8). The presence of tattoos on the character’s arm constituted another mimetic form on which Hal drew, and he assigned the character a history that was not explicitly stated in the text. He wrote, “He’s got prison tats” (p. 8). Drawing on mimetic forms (Eisner, 2002) in the same image Hermione wondered, “Who’s this Jon guy? He seems older, from the body.” In answering her question she also constructed a history for the character, speculating, “Maybe a bum” (Night Response Journal, p. 6). For his part Saki wrote, “This is a real ‘tough guy’ here” (p. 4).
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The participants drew on mimetic forms (Eisner, 2002) to make evaluative judgments about characters and infer information about them in other graphic novels they read. In Laika, for example, the image of an unnamed man reclining on a couch led Hermione to speculate about a female character’s marital status (Laika Response Journal, p. 7). On another occasion, the manner in which a character was visually depicted led her to observe that she looked “a bit tough” (Laika Response Journal, p. 8). Similarly, the visual treatment given animals in Pride of Baghdad led the participants to describe white horses as “angelic,” a young lion as “naïve,” a bear as “evil,” and a giraffe as a “devout follower.” In each instance the participants appeared to engage in the sort of gap filling that Iser (1978) suggests is characteristic of aesthetic reading. In doing so they filled gaps in the visual, as opposed to the linguistic, design of a text. Perspective. The responses the participants shared, both in their response journals and in the whole group discussions, indicated that they drew on perspective as a meaning making resource available to them in the visual design of the graphic novels they read. According to Kress and Van Leeuwen (1996/2006), a high angle “makes the subject look small and insignificant, a low angle makes it look imposing and awesome” (p. 140). In reading the graphic novels, the participants drew on the angles a cartoonist used to depict people, objects, and events as a resource for constructing interpretations. When readers first encounter Loren, the protagonist in Night Fisher, he is depicted from a low angle. In a sequence of three panels he is shown walking from his car, which is parked in the distance, toward the audience. Because he maintains a low angle throughout the sequence, the cartoonist manages to create the illusion that the character grows larger from one panel to the next, the result of which casts him as a powerful and imposing figure. Later, when his life spirals out of control, the cartoonist manipulates the perspective from
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which the character is revealed, using long shots to depict him in relation to objects that tower over him. Far from powerful, Loren now appears insignificant and powerless. When the participants met to discuss the graphic novel in the context of the reading group, Hal foregrounded the cartoonist’s use of perspective and explained: Hal: I like, uh, the last three panels of page 12. Where it's, it's, uh, he, he's walking from his car, and he looks, he starts to look gigantic, [but then he steps= Barry:
[Yeah.
Hal: =on this little weed and everything-- And later you just, you just look and there are all these things that are larger than him. Like, um-- I mean for the rest of the book I don't think I've seen him that, look that gigantic in perspective. I mean, uh, like the silo is huge. (Night Fisher Discussion, 43, 1941-1948) Referencing another panel in the same graphic novel Hal wrote in his journal, “Loren is small between Shane and the other guy.” Recognition of this point led him to make an evaluative judgment and interpret the character’s affective state. He wrote, “He’s very quiet and alone” (Night Response Journal, p. 8). Bill made a similar move when, in his individual interview, he was asked to identify a scene in one of the graphic novels that he found powerful. Pointing to the role perspective played in creating atmosphere in Night Fisher he explained: Bill: Um, but anytime that you really saw Loren either really tiny next to something, or something really big sort of hitting around him. Like in the very beginning when he's, uh-- ((pause)) It's not in the very beginning, but when he's sleeping in class and he has the dream where he's fishing and he's telling Shane to get the net? R.: Yeah. Bill: And Shane's not there and that big wave just crashes [up. It's kind of like= R.:
[Yeah. Yeah.
Bill: =well that’s supposed to be like an ominous tone there. I picked that up real quick and I was just like that's really cool. (Individual Interview, 11-12, 493-506)
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In this instance Bill drew on perspective as a resource that was available in the graphic novel’s visual design, and used it to interpret the scene as having an “ominous tone.” Eisner (1985) regards perspective as a convention that enables cartoonists “to manipulate and produce various emotional states” (p. 89) in an audience, and there were occasions when the participants attributed the affective responses they experienced as readers to changes in perspective. When she read Laika, the story of a dog sent to her death aboard a Soviet rocket, Sarah identified a panel in which the cartoonist manipulated the angle from which the audience viewed the engineer in whose hands the animal’s fate rest. Specifically, she interpreted the use of a low angle as a rhetorical device that served to situate readers in the animal’s subjective position and foster feelings of empathy. “And it's kind of from the bottom,” she explained when the group met to talk about the book, “the perspective, so you kind of feel like the dog” (Laika Discussion, 25, 1134-1135). Referencing another panel in the same graphic novel, Sarah characterized the angle from which a female character was shown as “eerie, and unflattering” (Laika Response Journal, p. 10). The use of an extreme close-up in Pride of Baghdad led Saki to experience feelings of tension as a reader, and he wondered, “Why is it so close-up to Noor’s eyes? What does she see?” (Pride Response Journal, p. 6). Facial expressions. Will Eisner (1985) observes that in communication the role of the face “is to register emotion” (p. 111), and he argues that “in comic art this part of the anatomy invites the most attention and involvement” (p. 110). Having examined the manner in which high school students responded to a graphic novel, Hammond (2009) found that they drew on facial expressions to interpret the emotions characters experienced. This study supports that finding, as observations the participants shared in their response journals, the reading group discussions, and their individual interviews suggested that they drew on facial
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expressions as a resource to interpret the affective states characters experienced, as well as the subjective positions they occupied. Reflecting on her experience reading Persepolis, Hermione observed that in reading the written dialogue she occasionally overlooked the graphic novel’s visual design, a result of her believing that the written text carried the bulk of the narrative. When she devoted more attention to the artwork, however, she observed that “some of the faces really are great and expressive” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 5). Saki also drew on facial expressions to interpret the affective states that characters in Persepolis experienced. Responding to the opening panels in which the protagonist is depicted alongside several friends from school he wrote, “None of them look very happy in the photo. I sense some underlying tension” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 2). He broached this point when the reading group met to talk about the graphic novel as well: It's funny. On the very first page with the first two panels there. One thing that I noticed right there-- I’m not sure why I picked up on this specifically but the fact that not only are they all wearing the same sort of clothes, they all just look kind of really sad. You notice that they’re all like frowning or just looking kind of, um, unamused or whatever it is. One way or another. None of them, none of them look happy in this photo. Or well not photo but you know what I mean. (Persepolis Discussion, 40, 1809-1821) Sarah cited the expression on the protagonist’s face in the opening panel as having led her to empathize with the character. Documenting her response in her journal she wrote, “I instantly took a liking to Marjane because of the look on her face in the first panel, the same image on the cover. At ten, during school pictures, I probably had the exact same look on my face” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 1). When the participants read Pride of Baghdad, several of them cited the dexterity the artist showed in revealing emotion through facial expressions. Barry, for instance, wrote, “It’s incredible how the art is able to convey such animalistic mentalities and human
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emotions at the same time in the lions’ faces” (Pride Response Journal, p. 3). As if echoing his observation, Hermione exclaimed, “It’s amazing how expressive the artist made the lions’ faces” (Pride Response Journal, p. 4). As was the case when they read Persepolis, the participants drew on facial expressions to attribute emotions to various characters in the narrative. Hermione, for example, described a lion as looking “so scared” (Pride Response Journal, p. 17), while Saki observed that a group of horses “look so sad and forlorn” (p. 6). In addition to drawing on facial expressions to attribute emotions to characters, the participants used them as a resource to infer information about their inner thoughts and motives. In doing so they assigned feelings and motives to characters that were not explicitly stated in the written text. This required them to introduce information beyond that which was available to them in the graphic novel’s linguistic design, and led them to engage in the sort of gap-filling that Iser (1978) suggests is characteristic of aesthetic reading. For example, when she read Persepolis, Sarah drew on the slightest of alterations in a character’s facial expression to infer information about his personal motivations. When the narrator’s father recalls how the father of the Shah rose to power in Iran, the images that accompany the written text portray the latter character engaged in conversation with a representative of the British government, who promises to make him emperor. A slight rise in his eyebrows led Sarah to infer that the Shah’s father was tempted by the offer. “I’ve noticed that Reza’s expression and the positioning of his eyebrows changes as the British man tells him he can one day be emporer [sic],” she wrote. “His eyebrows start low, then become crookedly raised” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 2). Referencing the work of Rudolphe Topffer, a Swiss artist regarded by many comics scholars as the father of the modern comic strip (Harvey, 1996; McCloud, 1993), Gombrich (1960/1969) accounts for the communicative power of facial expressions in images by
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arguing that the human mind is predisposed to imbue every aspect of an image with meaning. He argues that this is particularly true of faces. Citing what he deems “Topffer’s law,” Gombrich (1960/1969) suggests that the image of a face “will not be classed just as a face but will acquire a definite character and expression, will be endowed with life, with a presence” (p. 342). This was often the case in my study, as the participants drew on facial expressions to infer information about characters’ affective states and subjective positions. Visual patterns. In drawing on the visual design of the graphic novels they read the participants were sensitive to the presence of visual patterns. Indeed, disruptions to those patterns often constituted a platform on which the participants constructed thematic interpretations. This was evident when they read Persepolis, a memoir that recounts the author’s experiences as a young girl who came-of-age in the years that followed the Islamic Revolution in Iran. Throughout the story the protagonist faces a conflict between her desire to express herself as an individual, and the pressure she faces to conform to social norms. Early in the narrative the protagonist informs her audience that the Iranian government issued a decree requiring females to cover their heads when in public. Throughout the remainder of the narrative females are generally depicted wearing either black or white hijabs or burqas. When Hal read Persepolis, he observed that this pattern was disrupted in the latter half of the graphic novel when Marji began to wear decorated head coverings. Recognition of this point led him to attach thematic significance to the disruption, and in his response journal he made an interpretive move, writing, “Marjis [sic] headband is different from others. Marks her individuality” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 10). The participants drew on visual patterns and disruptions to them as a resource for making meaning when they read and talked about Night Fisher as well. When Barry observed that Loren, who wore glasses, was depicted without eyes, Hal corrected him,
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prompting Barry to remark, “Most of the time he doesn’t” (Night Discussion, 7, 303). Attaching significance to what he recognized as a disruption to a visual pattern, Hal explained, “Most of the time he doesn’t have eyes. It's like he only has eyes when he's like emotionally upset or there's something going on” (Night Discussion, 7, 305-306). As evidence of this he referenced a specific panel in the graphic novel and explained: It's the first time you see him without his glasses on and you can see his eyes. He's like washing his face in the water fount-- In the, like the birdbath. So it's like he's cleansing himself. So I think, I think I wrote down that I thought it was like cleansing himself at the time. And then he sees her, and I thought, you know, maybe the glasses are like he's taking off like a mask and, you know, it's like he's very emotional at this point. (Night Discussion, 16, 696-708) In suggesting that Loren’s glasses constituted a mask behind which he hid his inner-self, Hal made an interpretive move. He was able to do so, however, only because he drew on the graphic novel’s visual design to identify what he recognized as a disruption to a visual pattern to which he assigned symbolic import. Recognition of visual patterns and disruptions to them were common throughout the study. Reading Night Fisher Saki wondered, “Why do the images of these plants keep appearing?” (Night Response Journal, p. 11). Having encountered the image of another plant shortly after this he wrote, “What do all these plants MEAN??!” (Night Response Journal, p. 12). When she read Persepolis, Hermione cited a panel in which the protagonist’s hair appeared longer, and she drew on it as a temporal marker, writing, “I just noticed Marjane’s hair is longer. How much time passed?” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 14). Drawing on another visual pattern in the same graphic novel Saki wrote, “[Marjane] seems to always have been smiling when she was a very young child, and frowning all the time once she’s older” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 3).
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When the reading group met to talk about Laika, Hal attached symbolic significance to a recurring image of the moon, which he regarded as a visual pattern: I like how he, he keeps repeating that and then he looks towards the moon. I mean I like the, the repeating-- I mean you go back to the moon and you like, you relate that to like God or, or something. It, it comforts him. And then he remembers his mantra through the, the, the moon. I mean the moon's a very interesting, um, like repeating thing. (Laika Discussion, 38, 1710-1717) Hermione was cognizant of the same visual pattern, and she also assigned it symbolic import. As she read the graphic novel she wrote, “I like the moon as a motif, a guardian… Just because it’s pretty, and there really are a lot of meanings it can have. It seems to reoccur here as a beacon of hope” (Laika Response Journal, p. 10). Later, when a young boy attempts to drown Laika, the dog is depicted bobbing above and beneath the surface of the water and gazing upward at the sky. The panels in which the animal appears are interspersed with images of the moon, the result of which led Hermione to posit the existence of a parallel between the dog and another character who, at the start of the narrative, was shown staring up at the moon as he made his way across a frozen expanse of land. Having identified this pattern, Hermione questioned its meaning. In reference to the dog she wrote, “She seems to use the moon as a beacon, like Korolev, to see which way is to the surface. I wonder what that means?” (Laika Response Journal, p. 7). It is worth noting that the parallel structure Hermione identified between the two characters was made evident later in the narrative. Observations that Bill shared when the reading group met to talk about Laika suggested that, like the other participants, he, too, drew on disruptions to visual patterns as a resource for making meaning. Indeed, an observation he shared attested to the underlying logic that appeared to guide the manner in which the participants generally worked with the resource. Noting that characters and events in Laika were occasionally depicted outside of panel borders he explained, “I mean I just noted some weird, weird things. Just slightly.
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Um, I kind of felt that because they were sort of inconsistent that maybe they had some meaning to them” (Laika Discussion, 9, 394-395, emphasis added). Image as symbol. As explained in chapter two, Rosenblatt (1978) conceptualizes reading as falling on a continuum that ranges between two poles: efferent and aesthetic. In her scheme readers adopt an efferent stance toward a text when they read with the intention of acquiring information they intend to put toward other ends (p. 24). In doing so they are said to focus on “concepts to be retained, ideas to be tested, actions to be performed after the reading” (p. 24). Aesthetic reading, on the other hand, compels readers to acknowledge the private meanings language calls forth. In aesthetic reading, Rosenblatt (1978) argues, readers select from a range of referents to which words point, and acknowledge the emotions and personal associations they evoke. The distinction Rosenblatt (1978) draws between efferent and aesthetic reading enables her to account for the “symbolizing processes” (p. 97) in which she suggests readers engage. Having adopted an aesthetic stance, which, again, compels readers to acknowledge the personal meanings that words call to mind, she argues that they will find their “emotional overtones…all too powerful,” leading them to situate their “responses into contexts not at all directly indicated by the text” (p. 97). Readers create this context, she argues, as they draw on their background experience and situate their responses in the interpretive framework they construct. Symbols assume their meaning, she argues, as readers place them in that framework. Iser (1978) expresses a similar view. For him, the need for readers to occupy what he refers to as a “wandering viewpoint” (p. 111) compels them to synthesize the different perspectives they are invited to occupy as they read. Like Rosenblatt (1978), he observes that certain aspects of a text will resonate with readers, leading them to make an interpretive
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move. He writes, “The ceaseless and inevitable quest for the significance shows that in assembling the meaning we ourselves become aware that something has happened to us, and so we try to find out its significance” (p. 150). In doing so, Iser (1978) argues, readers fill a gap between significance and meaning. Recognition of this point enables him to account for differences in interpretation: On the level of plot, then, there is a high degree of intersubjective consensus, but on the level of significance selective decisions have to be taken which are subjective not because they are arbitrary, but because a gestalt can only be closed if one possibility is selected and the rest excluded. (p. 123) The theories of aesthetic reading advanced by Rosenblatt (1978) and Iser (1978) are useful in that they provide a framework for thinking about the manner in which the participants worked with images as symbols in the visual design of the graphic novels they read. Conventional signs. In assigning symbolic meaning to images, the participants occasionally treated them as conventional signs, which Eisner (2002) defines as “socially agreed upon symbols that refer to ideas, objects, or events and the like” (p. 18). In the graphic novel Night Fisher, a scene unfolds in which a character hits another individual with a cement block during a drunken altercation. When he flees the scene the police follow him and a high-speed chase ensues. Having mistaken the car in which Loren, the protagonist, is traveling for one driven by the individual they are pursuing, the police pull him and his friends over, not realizing that they are transporting equipment they stole from a construction site. Because it is raining, the policewoman approaches the car wearing a poncho (see Figure 4.3 below). Foregrounding the panel in which she does so when the reading group met to talk about the graphic novel, Hal observed that the policewoman “looked like a nun,” after which he unpacked aspects of the image’s visual design that led him to draw that conclusion. He observed, for example, that the character wore a “hood” as well as a “cross” (Night
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Figure 4.3 – Panel from Night Fisher (p. 114) Discussion, 13, 569-575). His observation prompted me to foreground what I recognized as a religious undercurrent in the graphic novel, which in turn led another member of the group to posit a thematic interpretation. Barry explained, “Even though like, you know, the whole, the whole, the whole book he's like been doing stuff bad, maybe there's a hidden meaning of repentance that, uh, Mr. Johnson [the cartoonist] was like trying to get across” (Night Discussion, 13, 593-595). The participants drew on conventional signs to construct meaning elsewhere in the reading group discussions, as well as in their response journals. A panel in which moths (which he referred to as butterflies) hovered around a character in Night Fisher led Bill to propose, “There was actually good I thought around the woman that, you know, you saw for like that one panel” (Night Discussion, 37, 1694-1695). Expanding on this interpretation a moment later he explained, “Yeah, there’s butterflies in the front. I saw that. And I was like that must mean something light, or, you know, something good” (Night Discussion, 38, 1701-1706). Reading Night Fisher, Hal interpreted a series of panels that depicted a transition from night to day as a metaphor for the protagonist’s spiritual renewal. “Night becomes day,” he wrote, “transitional period. Something might change” (Night Response Journal, p. 16). Similarly, when Hermione read Laika, she observed a sickle and hammer
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woven into the metal tapestry of a bridge, the result of which led her to write, “The communist symbol is on the bridge!” (Laika Response Journal, p. 7). Open symbols. While the participants treated aspects of images as conventional signs, the meanings of which Eisner (2002) suggests are socially agreed upon, they were more likely to work with them as open symbols. In using that term I mean to suggest that the meanings the participants assigned images were influenced by the sort of personal associations that Rosenblatt (1978) suggests are characteristic of aesthetic reading, the result of which meant that they were often idiosyncratic. In interpreting an image as an open symbol, the participants appeared to engage in processes similar to those Rosenblatt (1978) and Iser (1978) suggest are characteristic of aesthetic reading. For whatever reason, certain images seemed to resonate with them. To close what Iser (1978) characterizes as a gap between significance and meaning, they appeared to draw on the personal meanings those images evoked. Actions consequently assumed meanings that extended beyond the referents to which they pointed in the context of the narrative. For example, when she read Persepolis Hermione wrote, “I thought it was symbolic when Marjane’s maid took off her veil as she revealed her feelings—as though women are hidden and surpresed [sic] from being themselves under the sexist new policies instated” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 19). Similarly, Sarah recognized political implications in the image of a lion watching the sun set on the horizon. “Zill’s mane blowing to the right is significant, I think,” she wrote. “I think it foreshadows a right (conservative government?) wing wind blowing through Iraq. I think something involving the U.S. might happen” (p. 13). In addition to actions, the participants imbued objects they encountered in the visual design of graphic novels with symbolic meaning. Thus, when the protagonist in Night Fisher enters a market place where he encounters people buying fruits and vegetables, Hermione
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wrote, “All those fruit/market comparisons… What does it mean? Is there a deeper meaning here about…going against nature, maybe?” (Night Response Journal, p. 18). Likewise, upon encountering a series of maps that depicted the island of Maui’s geologic formation at the start of the same graphic novel, Saki shrewdly interpreted the images as a metaphor for the main character. In his response journal he wrote, “I was just wondering, seeing the big ‘growth spurt’ at stage 3, if the lifecycle of the islands shown here might symbolize or represent the lifecycle of the main character? Since I believe it’s about a teenager” (Night Response Journal, p. 1). Later in the same graphic novel, after the character is released from jail on bail, he passes a series of shuttered businesses, which Saki interpreted as a metaphor for his future prospects. “The store’s all shut down,” he wrote, “like Loren’s life now?” (Night Response Journal, p. 10). When, in the same graphic novel, Sarah encountered a recurring diagram (an example of what I previously referred to as a visual pattern) that illustrated the steps involved in tying a knot she wrote, “I wish I could figure the symbolic meaning of this knot. I know it means something, and I like its reoccurance [sic], I just want to know what it means” (Night Response Journal, p. 4). Similarly, when the lions in Pride of Baghdad were released from the zoo and passed beneath a towering statue of two raised swords she wrote, “The swords in the air are acting as a gateway. A gateway to a new ‘life’ the lions are embarking on. And they don’t know much about it” (p. 4). Bill interpreted the same image as an ominous, rather than hopeful, sign. Suspecting that the image foreshadowed events to come, he concluded that “the swords were going to come down on them” (Individual Interview, 9, 379-380). Finally, the participants imbued images of characters with symbolic meaning. Shortly after he began reading Pride of Baghdad Barry wrote, “I think the lions represent a distinct race of people. Safa being raped makes me think of lower class women being taken
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advantage of in more recent middle eastern history (probably in Baghdad)” (Pride Response Journal, p. 1). Toward the conclusion of the same graphic novel Saki wondered, “What do all these birds mean? Freedom? They must symbolize something…” (Pride Response Journal, p. 8). In this sense the participants interpreted images of characters, like images of actions and objects, as communicating meanings that extended beyond the referents to which they immediately pointed. Finding Two: Color Design Although they acknowledge that some semiotic resources are more highly developed and more fully articulated than others, Kress and Van Leeuwen (2002) do not regard this as cause to distinguish between modes and non-modes. Provided that a “resource is sufficiently developed for sign-making,” they recognize it as a mode (p. 345). Noting that the interests of sign makers have led them to use color in particular ways over time, giving rise to regularities in terms of its use, they acknowledge it as “a semiotic resource like others” (p. 345). Elsewhere they observe that unlike other semiotic resources (e.g., language, image, music), color is not independent (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 1996/2006, p. 231). That is, they observe that color is not necessarily capable of communicating meaning on its own. Still, the ease with which it intermingles with other modes leads them to regard color as “a characteristic mode for the age of multimodality” (p. 231). An available color design constituted an additional resource the participants drew on as they read and talked about the assigned graphic novels. In making use of the color design available to them in the graphic novels they read the participants treated color as both an expressive form—one, that is, which serves to communicate affective information—and a conventional sign, the meaning of which is socially agreed on (Eisner, 2002). Additionally,
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they made use of what Eisner (2002) refers to as “somatic knowledge” (p. 19) to imbue colors with meanings that were based on their tactile experience of them. Color as a resource for constructing mood. The participants drew on the color design available to them in the graphic novels they read as a resource with which to construct a sense of mood. In doing so they worked with color as an expressive form (Eisner, 2002). When she read Pride of Baghdad, Hermione was sensitive to changes in what she called “color schemes,” and she regarded them as lending scenes a sense of atmosphere. A scene in which four lions pass through Baghdad’s desolate streets following a series of air strikes by the U.S. military employs a combination of deep red, orange, and yellow hues. The effect of these colors is pronounced, not least because the scene follows one that makes use of highly saturated greens and blues. Foregrounding the mood the color scheme led her to experience Hermione wrote, “All yellow and eerie” (Pride Response Journal, p. 12). Sarah was cognizant of a shift in the color scheme of the same scene. Responding to it in her journal she wrote, “The color has changed. It looks like everything in the city is on fire” (Pride Response Journal, p. 7). In a subsequent scene the available color design led Sarah to experience feelings of discomfort as a reader. When the protagonists enter an abandoned palace and encounter a villainous bear the artist works with primarily dark hues. When one of the lions sends the bear reeling through a wall into the light of day, however, the color scheme shifts and the scene takes on a yellowish hue. Responding to this shift Sarah wrote, “The color contrast between the inside of the palace and the outside is moving. I feel more at ease with the yellow coloring when I read it” (Pride Response Journal, p. 8). Another panel in which the artist depicted the bear’s eyes using a highly saturated red led her to experience similar
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feelings of tension. “The bear’s red eyes stress me out,” she wrote. “I feel uncomfortable looking at it” (Pride Response Journal, p. 10). When she read Laika, which, like Pride of Baghdad, employs a diverse color palette, Sarah identified a scene whose mood struck her as melancholy and wrote, “The colors are still matte, and a bit sad, even though it’s spring” (Laika Response Journal, p. 7). Reading the same graphic novel, Hermione observed that the cartoonist’s use of “red backgrounds really heighten the tension” (Laika Response Journal, p. 18). Elsewhere she foregrounded a difference between the sense of realism color lent Pride of Baghdad, and the role she understood it to play in Laika. “In Laika [sic],” she wrote, “it seemed surreal, sometimes just to express a mood” (Laika Response Journal, p. 30). When the group met to talk about Pride of Baghdad, Hal observed that the infusion of colors “really sets the mood” (Pride Discussion, 48, 2164). Intrigued by his observation, I asked the participants whether they felt color served a decorative function in the graphic novel, or whether they thought it performed a specific role. Noting that he regarded “color as like actually completing the art” (Pride Discussion, 49, 2227), Barry underscored its ability to foster a sense of mood. In doing so he explained: But I think something like this it really sets like, sets the tone. Like you could look at the pages and rather than just seeing like black and white or like more black than white on a page you could see like actual-- Like I think if you see a color you have like a feeling already attached to that color, and like the way it looks too. So I think color is really important. (Pride Discussion, 49, 2238-2242) He echoed this observation when we met a week later for his individual interview. When he noted that he enjoyed reading Pride of Baghdad I asked why he thought that was the case. Foregrounding the role color played in lending the story a sense of atmosphere he explained: Barry: Um, ((pause)) it's probably 'cause it's what I'm most used to I guess. Just I'm most familiar with that. Um, I really like color. I think color is really important to telling a story.
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R.: How come? Barry: Because you can, there's different things you can do with color that you can't do with black and white. Like you can really set, you can really set a mood with color. Like if you have like a flat like drawing, you can add color to it and make it whatever you want. Like you can make it creepy or, you know, exciting [or, or= R.:
[Um, hmm.
Barry: =funny just on the color you add to it, and I think it just adds another dimension to the comic. (Individual Interview, 8, 336-352) As the above excerpt indicates, a cartoonist’s use of color did introduce “another dimension” to the reading experience in that the participants drew on it to construct a sense of mood in the narratives they read. Color as a tactile experience. According to Eisner (2002), “the fact that an image is visual does not mean that the experience we have of it will be visual” (p. 19). In addition to drawing on an available color design to lend the graphic novels they read a sense of atmosphere, the participants responded to an artist’s use of color in physical terms. In doing so they made use of what Eisner refers to as “somatic knowledge” (p. 19). Having been released from a Russian gulag at the start of Laika, one of the graphic novel’s central characters journeys across a frozen tundra before finding refuge in a small village. When he enters a building the scene is rendered in a yellowish hue, the result of which causes it to stand apart from the preceding scene, which made use of a primarily blue and gray color pallet. Saki responded to this shift in the graphic novel’s available color design in physical terms, writing, “Wow! The color really makes the inside of the house look a lot warmer than outside” (p. 2). At the conclusion of the graphic novel he again cited the tactile sensations the cartoonist’s use of color led him to experience. When a system designed to regulate the temperature in a space capsule aboard which Laika is traveling malfunctions, the animal is subjected to the intense heat of the sun. A series of panels in which the dog begins to suffer
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as a result of the heat are rendered in a deep red hue. Responding to this available color design Saki wrote, “She must be so hot…burning up…” (Laika Response Journal, p. 12). The participants responded to color in physical terms when they met to talk about other graphic novels. Responding to Pride of Baghdad, the first of the assigned graphic novels that made use of color, Hal observed that the atmosphere seemed to grow “hotter” as time passed in the narrative. He attributed this to alterations in the color scheme that was employed from one scene to the next. For example, he cited a transition from a jungle scene that made use of greens to one that was set in the city of Baghdad and relied heavily on orange, red, and yellow hues: Hal: I mean it, it, it, [it, it seems to= Sarah:
[((to Bill)) Yeah.
Hal: =get like hotter as the day gets on. I [mean you can feel like-Barry:
[Yeah, like the sun's higher in the sky.
Hal: Yeah. Saki: Yeah, there's [like-Hal:
[It's, it's, it-- Here it's like all red and fiery [and then=
Saki:
[Yeah.
Hal: =in the jungle it's like a very-- (Pride Discussion, 48, 2184-2188) When Hal trailed off, Saki and Hermione intervened and attempted to help him finish his thought. Saki, for example, observed that the jungle scene employed a “lush green” color which Hermione described as “cool” (Pride Discussion, 49, 2202-2204). Hal disagreed with her reading of the scene, however, and argued that the color design led him to experience the sensation of heat:
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Hal: It's very-- ((to Saki)) No I, I kind of think it's like a murky-- It's, it's kind of, it's, it's steamy I thought. [It's like, it's like= Barry:
[Well it's like--
Hal: =the sun's straight up and you see, and you look down and you can see all the [little= Barry:
[Yeah.
Saki:
[Oh!
Hal: =the little-- It's-- That's-- It's, it's hot then. That's what I was thinking. Uh, I just thought it got hotter and hotter throughout the whole book. I, I, I mean I had this sense of heat [just-Bill:
[Um, hmm.
Saki: From all the reds and oranges. Hal: Yeah. (Pride Discussion, 49, 2206-2225) The color design available to readers in Laika prompted the participants to respond to the text in physical terms as well. This was evident when they talked about a scene they felt was unique because of the way the cartoonist used color. Although the images in the graphic novel are depicted in color, the pages on which they appear are white. Toward the middle of the story, however, readers encounter three pages that stand apart because they are yellow. In the context of the narrative the scene represents a montage in which the narrator accounts for a period of time that passed following a decision made by officials in the Russian space program to suspend flights carrying dogs into space, the result of which gave Laika—and her caretakers—a temporary reprieve. As the scene unfolds the viewpoint shifts between different characters, the result of which enables readers to discern how they passed the intervening time, which took place in August. When the participants met to talk about the graphic novel, Hal noted that the cartoonist’s decision to make use of the color yellow caused the scene to stand apart from the others, and allowed readers to experience sensations
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associated with the month during which it took place. “This is like during August,” he explained, “so it really, it feels like it's August” (Laika Discussion, 15, 679). For his part, Saki drew on the use of the color yellow in the same scene to construct a sense of mood in the narrative. In doing so he observed, “it’s just kind of like a happy time for a bit right there” (Laika Discussion, 15, 648-652). In the same discussion Hermione credited color with having led her to experience a tactile response to an opening scene in which a prisoner who was released from a Russian gulag trekked across a frozen landscape. Describing the color scheme that predominated the scene she explained: But like the, I mean it's gray in the beginning. And it's black and dreary and then like dark blue and gray and it's just sort of like wintry. And then just those, just those, like the night and the way you just felt really cold on like 10 and 11. (Laika Discussion, 21, 938-941) Responses of this sort—in which the participants drew on somatic knowledge to respond to tactile sensations they associated with different colors—were not uncommon in the discussions that took place around the graphic novels. Color as a conventional sign. In addition to drawing on color to construct a sense of mood and respond to the tactile sensations they assumed characters experienced, the participants treated color as a conventional sign, the meaning of which Eisner (2002) suggests is socially agreed upon, and premised on cultural knowledge. Laika opens with a flashback in which a shabbily dressed character, having been released from a gulag, wanders across a frozen expanse of land prior to finding salvation in a small village. In the scene that follows the cartoonist signals a transition to the present when he reveals the same character wearing a suit, raising a glass of vodka in a toast, and exclaiming, “I am a man of destiny” (Abadzis, 2007, p. 15). The background against which the character appears consists of two
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colors, red and black, which Sarah interpreted as a statement about his political affiliations. Recording her response in her journal she wrote, “I guess the black/red is representative of Communism… (in his dream)” (Laika Response Journal, p. 2). She interpreted a reddish hue that fell across characters’ faces in a similar manner, writing, “I think the red lighting that tints their faces, [sic] is supposed to represent communism tainting their minds/actions” (Laika Response Journal, p. 2). The participants treated the background colors that adorned panels in Laika as conventional signs as well, and in doing so they drew on them as a resource they used to interpret the affective states characters experienced. Saki, for example, recognized a parallel between the meanings communicated in the written text and the colors that appeared in the background of panels. When the group met to talk about the graphic novel he explained, “Well it’s just interesting how those seem to correlate with the text somewhat. Like where they’re doing the red one is right when she’s saying, ‘You can trust me. You can trust me’” (Laika Discussion, 13, 570-576). Building on his observation, Bill observed that when the same character uttered the word “fatalities” the background shifted to blue, a color that, when treated as a conventional sign in Western culture, is sometimes associated with sorrow. Recognition of this point led Sarah to exclaim, “It was like her thoughts translated to the background” (Laika Discussion, 14, 612). Asked to expand on that point she explained, “Well like when she’s thinking different things I guess the background is a different color” (Laika Discussion, 14, 621-622). Concurring with her interpretation, Hal proposed that the shift in colors served to “reflect her mood” (Laika Discussion, 14, 624), while Hermione, referring to her experience reading the graphic novel, explained, “I, I mean that’s kind of the sense I got” (Laika Discussion, 14, 628).
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The participants drew on color as a conventional sign when they read Pride of Baghdad as well. The black mane and reddish hue assigned a secondary character led Sarah to speculate that he would occupy a role as an antagonist, an observation that was born out by the narrative. Similarly, the dark color design associated with a bear in a subsequent scene led her to interpret the character as a menacing figure. Asked whether she thought color performed a decorative function in the graphic novel Sarah explained: Sarah: No it's not just decorative. It's-- I mean I think it played a huge role in Pride of Baghdad, but I guess like with the bear, and his like whole sense of being was pretty dark. And it was weird how even when he was in-- He, he was outside and it was light outside. There was still like darkness. Like completely around him. And it was like the whole back of the page was dark but then the lions are in the same place and it's light. [So I guess like= R.:
[Yeah.
Sarah: =there it played a role of just like saying that like that bear, he was such a terrible like, like [being that= R.:
[Yeah.
Sarah: =darkness was just completely cast around all that he did. (Individual Interview, 14, 638-652) It is interesting to note that Sarah regarded the dark color palette that was used to render the bear as “saying” that he was a “terrible” figure. Finding Three: Audio Design According to Schwarz (1982), “visible sound—the attempt to represent pictorially various aspects of sound, and especially letters, words and music notes signifying sound—is a mainstay of the comics code” (p. 77). In reading the graphic novels they encountered in my study, the participants drew on an available audio design as a resource for constructing meaning. McCloud (1993) observes that the Russian painter Kandinsky and several of his contemporaries expressed an interest in “searching for an art that might somehow unite the
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senses—and in doing so, unite the different artforms which appealed to those different senses” (p. 123). McCloud (1993) refers to this concept as “synaesthetics,” (p. 123) and he argues that the medium of comics—which makes use of line, word, and conventional signs to stimulate the emotions and senses—is capable of realizing it. To create an audio track, McCloud (1993) argues that cartoonists use different variations “to depict sound in a strictly visual medium” (p. 134). For example, he explains that they vary the visual design of speech balloons, as well as the style of lettering they use to depict written text. Lettering, which employs two modes simultaneously—one linguistic, the other visual—constitutes an important part of a graphic novel’s available audio design, and allows readers to experience the illusion of sound in an otherwise silent medium. According to Stockl (2005), typography (which is akin to lettering in comics) is able to convey meaning on three levels. First, he cites the meanings that are represented by written words—that is, the referents to which they point. Second, he argues that the visual details that are associated with a typographic set are capable of communicating connotative meanings. Finally, he foregrounds the possibility of using letters to depict the shapes they represent—for example, using the letter “s” to represent a snake (p. 206). The second level is of interest to my discussion, as the visual treatment afforded written language constituted a semiotic resource on which the participants drew to construct meaning as they read the graphic novels. Kress and Van Leeuwen’s (2001) concept of experiential meaning potential, which assumes that “material signifiers have a meaning potential that derives from what we do when we articulate them, and from our ability to extend our practical experiences metaphorically and turn action into knowledge” (pp. 22-23, emphasis in original), provides a useful framework for thinking about how readers draw on the visual treatment afforded written language to construct meaning in their transactions with graphic novels. For
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example, one might assume that because we are familiar with the feelings of force we experience when we raise our voices, we are able to recognize the emphasis that is placed on words that are capitalized, and thus appear to grow larger. Likewise, the concept of experiential meaning potential suggests that because we know what it is like to talk “over” another person, we are able understand the implications that are involved when one character’s written dialogue is superimposed on another’s. Perhaps because it played with lettering in particularly creative ways, the participants were most likely to refer to an audio design when they read Night Fisher. As indicated by his response journal, Hal paid close attention to the visual treatment afforded written language in the latter text. In a scene in which Loren converses with an acquaintance from school, the latter figure asks why a mutual friend was absent from class. Attempting to cover for him Loren suggests that he has been ill. The other character sees through his charade, however, and his response—“Right!”—is printed in capital letters, and assumes the form of an arch, the result of which hints at the rising and falling intonation the speaker places on the word. Responding to this line of dialogue in his journal, Hal rewrote the word as it appeared in the graphic novel and explained, “The way its [sic] written is how it sounds that’s [sic] cool. Visual sound” (Night Response Journal, p. 5). Other participants made use of an available audio design in Night Fisher as well. Hermione, for example, cited a panel in which the spatial arrangement of words on the page provided a clue as to how readers were intended to “hear” the dialogue. In the panel Loren is shown talking to his father, who begins to tell a joke that Loren has heard countless times, and which appears inside a word balloon that is situated in the lower half of the panel. A narrative box in which Loren, functioning as the narrator, delivers the joke’s punch line appears on top of the speech balloon, as if to suggest that he has supplanted his father’s
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voice. Recognizing this Hermione wrote, “It’s funny how some speech bubbles go over each other as though cutting each other off” (Night Response Journal, p. 2). Citing another instance when a speech balloon attributed to Loren covered a speech balloon attributed to his father Sarah wrote, “I like that the conversation bubble in the last panel cuts the dad’s off. I guess it means the son cut him off” (Night Response Journal, p. 1). Drawing on the audio design of the same graphic novel, Saki responded to a sequence of panels in which Loren and his friends attempted to listen to a conversation that took place between two characters situated at a distance. Because they were physically removed from the discussion, they struggled to overhear what was said. To communicate this, the cartoonist depicted the written text faintly, as if it had been partially erased. Attending to this detail in his journal Saki wrote, “Funny, we can kinda [sic] ‘hear’ what Jon and the other guy are saying, but not exactly” (Night Response Journal, p. 5). When the reading group met to talk about the graphic novel he cited the cartoonist’s use of this technique, as well as his tendency to transpose speech balloons on top of one another, as strategies that enabled the latter figure to convey a sense of sound in the graphic novel: Saki: It's, it's interesting how multiple times-- This is something I really picked up on though I may not have put it in the journal much, but, uh, I realized that a lot of times whenever it seems like Loren's like not paying attention, there's just a lot of people kind of speaking and saying all sorts of random things, a lot of the text's, uh, bubbles will just cover, they’ll cover over each [other. Or like at= R.:
[Yeah.
Saki: =the end near the last part where Lacey's talking, it'll be this like, you can see the edges of it but it's surrounded by a border or cut off. And it's just like-- Or like there'll be little scribbles [when people are= Bill:
[I like--
Saki: =talking away ###. (Night Discussion, 48, 2158-2172)
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Bill was aware of this same technique, and he drew on his fund of personal experience to interpret the audio design that was available in the panels Saki referenced: It sort of almost describes like how you would, um, watch like a TV show or something where you would like hear something in the background and then all of a sudden it comes into focus or like you start hearing what they're actually saying. (Night Discussion, 48, 2174-2177) That Bill drew on his experience hearing sounds gradually come into focus to interpret the available audio design he encountered in Night Fisher is suggestive of what Kress and Van Leeuwen (2001) refer to as experiential meaning potential. There were occasions when the audio design available in the graphic novels appeared to create confusion for Sarah. When she read Laika, for example, she was uncertain whether she ought to attribute dialogue that appeared outside of a speech balloon to a character or to the author. Questioning the convention she wondered, “If the words aren’t in a quote bubble, is it the author’s narration?” Likewise, when she read Pride of Baghdad she was unsure how to work with a convention that is routinely used in comics to denote emphasis placed on a word. Uncertain how to work with written language that appeared in bold print she wrote, “I don’t know why some words are bolded” (Pride Response Journal, p. 2). Whether or not the confusion she faced was attributable to her status as a novice reader, however, is uncertain. Finding Four: Spatial Design Addressing the role that composition plays in picturebooks, Nikolajeva and Scott (2001) argue that images possess “a superior ability to convey the spatial position of the character, and especially the mutual spatial relationship of two or more characters, which often reveals their psychological relationship and relative status” (p. 83). Elsewhere, Nodelman (1988) observes that “the location of objects in relation to other objects can affect
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the way we understand them” (p. 130). In the medium of comics, a spatial design—that is, the manner in which images, as well as panels, are arranged on the physical space of a page—constitutes a semiotic resource that is available to readers. Although the participants drew on a spatial design in the graphic novels they read, they did so less frequently than they did the other resources discussed in this section, leading me to suspect that they may have been less cognizant of it. Of the six, Hal was most likely to refer to issues of composition, either in his journal or during the reading group discussions, the result of which led me to infer that he was more sensitive to the use of this particular resource. In Persepolis readers encounter a sequence of two panels that are stacked on top of one another. The upper-most panel depicts silhouettes of young boys dieing on a battlefield as explosions erupt around them. As they appear in the image, their bodies are contorted into grotesque shapes. Directly beneath this image readers encounter a second panel in which the protagonist is seen attending a party. Positioned in the foreground, she raises her arms as she dances to music. In the background her friends are seen dancing as well, and their bodies are positioned in a manner that echoes the bodies of the boys in the panel above. The arrangement of the two panels creates an interesting juxtaposition, one that Hermione acknowledged as she read the graphic novel. Responding to the sequence in her journal she wrote, “The juxtaposition of the minefield and the party is eerie” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 20). When the same sequence was referenced during the reading group discussion she drew on the text’s spatial design to interpret the relationship between the two panels and identify what she regarded as a theme in the graphic novel. “I mean I guess that that’s the point she was making,” Hermione explained, “like well these kids are dying but I mean there was, life still was going on and I mean it kept going” (Persepolis Discussion, 19, 834-836).
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Shortly after this she proposed that the cartoonist “put those two together for sure on purpose” (Persepolis Discussion, 19, 842-843). When the reading group met to talk about Night Fisher, Hal drew on its spatial design as a resource to interpret the relationship between the protagonist and his father. In doing so he construed the space that separated them when they appeared together in the same panel as a metaphor for emotional distance. “You can see in the panels, you see they’re separated by like the whole house, or, uh, they don’t really look into each other’s eye,” he explained (Night Discussion, 7, 295-297). Of the four graphic novels, the participants were most likely to refer to a spatial design when they read Laika. To some extent this is not surprising, as the graphic novel used this resource to an extent that surpassed the other graphic novels. As noted in chapter three, the cartoonist routinely manipulates the shape and size of panels. Likewise, he experiments with different page layouts, using the resource not only to direct the reading path one’s eyes follow, but also to convey subtle meanings. Bill recognized this when he read the graphic novel, and in his response journal he wrote: The way this book is layed [sic] out is somewhat important I think… It seemed that the boxes can show movement and space. In some instances it even creates tones by constructing the characters or focusing on cirtain [sic] features of the face or expression. (Laika Response Journal, p. 1) Hal was conscious of the role space played as a resource for making meaning when he read Laika as well. In the narrative, fear of government reprisal prohibits a group of scientists who object to a decision to send a dog into space on ethical grounds from saving her. Hal interpreted the cartoonist’s decision to make use of unusually small panels as a rhetorical strategy that enabled readers to experience the feelings of entrapment the characters felt. Initially, the cartoonist’s use of small panels was a source of irritation for
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him, a point he noted in his response journal. “The panels just keep geting [sic] smaller,” he wrote, ”very constricted [sic] kind of annoys me [sic] a lot of words and small panels” (Laika Response Journal, p. 2). By the time the reading group met to talk about the graphic novel, however, Hal had come to regard the panels as performing a narrative function. Foregrounding the role an available spatial design played in conveying meaning he explained: What I really like about the book is-- And, and like during the first half of the book I really hated it is, well you start out with these, these-- The, the panels like change. 'Cause sometimes you'll have okay, pretty big size panels, and then you'll get these tiny panels where there's a lot of words, and I HATED that until I was, I started thinking about it. And I was thinking, WOW! This makes me feel, this makes me feel pretty like constricted and just like I'M in a small space. So I, I, I like how he, uh, he-- I think he, um, manipulated the size of the panel to try and affect how the reader felt. So he used the size of the panel to, uh, put a mood onto the reader. (Laika Discussion, 6, 252-259) When I suggested that I understood Hal to mean that the panels captured the feelings of confinement the dog experienced he corrected me, noting that he regarded them as signaling the sense of oppression the human characters experienced under the Soviet regime as well: I don't, I don't think it's only the dog. It's, it's the people too. They're living in this, the, the communistic societ-- The, the-- Soviet Russia. Uh, and they're, they're, well, ((adopts voice of characters)) "We've got to do this! We, we should be happy we're, we're helping our country! We're, we're doing this!" But, it, ((exhales)) but it's like if you-- "We can't, we can't hear anything about THIS! We can't, we can't know all THIS information. We've just got to do our job and then maybe sometime they'll inform us." So I, I think it also relates to the people too. Or the society. (Laika Discussion, 7, 308-318) Building on Hal’s interpretation, Saki observed that the cartoonist employed a similar strategy when he depicted Mikhail, a young boy who was oppressed by his father, a figure who—perhaps not coincidentally—was an official in the Soviet party. “A, a lot of the panels with him involved as well are very tiny,” Saki explained. “Almost as if, as you can see he, uh, feels kind of confined or repressed or something as well” (Laika Discussion, 8, 321-323).
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On another occasion Bill foregrounded a move in the opposite direction, identifying an instance when the panels grew larger, a move that he interpreted as conveying a sense of openness, and hence of freedom. Likewise, Hermione cited a scene in which the image of rocket blasting off filled an entire page, while a much smaller image of Laika appeared in a panel at the bottom of the page. “It’s hard to explain the feeling I get seeing such immense things like that,” she wrote, “and little Laika, Kudryavka, on board, flattened down” (Laika Response Journal, p. 26). For her, issues of composition served to elicit an affective response. Finding Five: Linguistic Design Determining how the participants made use of what the New London Group (1996) refers to as a linguistic design proved challenging, as references to written text were less explicit than they were to resources such as image, color, and space. When the participants cited the linguistic design of a graphic novel directly, either by highlighting fragments of dialogue in their journals or by foregrounding specific phrases that resonated with them, they appeared to engage in the sort of symbolizing processes that Rosenblatt (1978) suggests are characteristic of aesthetic reading. That is, having attached significance to a word or fragment of dialogue, they appeared to reflect on the personal meanings and feelings it called forth. This in turn led them to imbue written dialogue with meanings that extended beyond the referents to which words immediately pointed in a narrative. When Hal read Pride of Baghdad, an allegory set during the Second Persian Gulf War, he recorded fragments of dialogue that resonated with him in his response journal. In one instance he cited a conversation in which a lioness that sought to escape from the zoo in which she was confined solicits help from an antelope that inhabits a pen opposite her. Reluctant to trust a predator, the antelope declines her invitation to work together, leading the
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lioness to exclaim, “But we…we can rise above our basest instincts! There’s a bounty waiting for us beyond these walls, enough for everyone. We could learn to--” Before she is able to finish her thought, however, the antelope interrupts her and exclaims, “We either live apart, or die together, lion. I made my choice a long time ago” (Vaughan & Henrichon, 2006, no pagination). Recording fragments of this exchange in his response journal Hal wrote, “Can rise above our basic instincts.” Directly below that he wrote, “Live apart or die together.” He then drew an arrow leading away from the word “together,” after which he wrote “Sunni vs. Shiites,” which seemed to indicate that in the context of the narrative he had come to regard the animals as symbolizing two distinct religious factions. Following this he made another interpretive move, wondering whether this division might constitute a theme in the narrative. “Could this be the message?” he wondered (Pride Response Journal, p. 2). Sarah drew on the graphic novel’s linguistic design in a similar manner. Like Hal, she also recorded fragments of dialogue that resonated with her. In doing so she appeared to assign them symbolic significance, imbuing them with meanings that extended beyond the referents to which they pointed. Doing so seemed to require her to engage in the sort of symbolizing processes Rosenblatt (1978) described. This was evident, for example, when she recorded her response to a panel in which white horses are seen running off in the distance. As he watches the horses flee one of the protagonists asks, “Should I keep chasing the white things, Zill?” (Vaughan & Henrichon, 2006, no pagination). For Sarah, the word “white” took on symbolic significance, and in treating the color as a conventional sign she constructed a unique interpretation of the character’s question. In her journal she wrote, “The use of Ali saying ‘white things’ about the horses is interesting. I don’t know if the author is implying a war between races, or a war between morals and ethics. White usually goes along
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with purity, while black with impurity, so maybe something along these lines” (Pride Response Journal, p. 12). Sarah made a similar move when she encountered a panel in which the protagonists are depicted climbing a pile of rubble toward the end of the narrative. In reference to the surface on which they are walking one of the characters exclaims, “This earth. It’s uneven” (Vaughan & Henrichon 2006, no pagination). When she recorded the line in her journal Sarah construed the word “uneven” as commenting on the absence of justice in the world the animals inhabit. Specifically, she wrote, “This earth. It’s uneven… There’s more to this than the literal fact. The ‘earth’ the lions were thrusted [sic] into is just that, uneven” (Pride Response Journal, p. 12). The aforementioned episode, in which Sarah imbued the word “uneven” with meanings that surpassed the referent to which it pointed in the context of the narrative, bears a resemblance to verbal irony, a literary convention that entails a distinction between what is said and what is meant. The ability to work with verbal irony might be thought to require readers to engage in the sort of gap-filling that Iser (1978) suggests is characteristic of aesthetic reading, and the participants appeared to do this as they drew on the linguistic design of the graphic novels they read. In a scene that takes place after Loren is arrested in Night Fisher, readers encounter a panel in which the exterior of a building in which his father works as a dentist is depicted. On the wall of the building a sign reads, “Miles of Smiles,” the only written text visible in the panel. Foregrounding it in his journal Saki interpreted the phrase as a sardonic comment on preceding events in the narrative. Specifically, he wrote, “Ironic that the sign talks about smiles after all that’s happened…” (Night Response Journal, p. 10). Likewise, when the reading group met to talk about Night Fisher, Bill referred to a poster that hung on a wall inside the same dentist office and read, “Aging. After. Smoking.
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After.” Drawing on the panel’s linguistic design, he interpreted the poster as commenting on the inability of the protagonist, who had smoked drugs, to hide his transgressions from his father any longer. This sort of gap filling (Iser, 1978), in which the participants drew on the linguistic design of the graphic novels they read to construct meanings that surpassed the referents to which the words immediately pointed in a narrative, was evident on other occasions. Reading Pride of Baghdad, Sarah observed that one of the protagonists, a lioness, referred to a group of soldiers who murdered her acquaintances as “animals.” This led her to ask, “Why does Noor use the word ‘animals’ here. [sic] Are the roles being reversed?” (Pride Response Journal, p. 13). When he read Laika, Saki recognized a contradiction between the terms of familiarity characters used to address each other, and the seeming indifference they showed for one another in their actions. In doing so he wrote, “Now that I think about it, he’s really lucky to find a place to sleep. All of these people call each other ‘comrade’ or ‘friend,’ but really they all mostly just act for their own self-interest” (Laika Response Journal, p. 2). Summary As the aforementioned findings indicate, the participants were active as readers, and they drew on a range of semiotic resources that were available to them in the design of the graphic novels they read. These resources fell into categories of Available Designs identified by the New London Group (1996), and included a visual design, audio design, spatial design, and linguistic design. Additionally, the participants made use of an available color design. As was seen, the category of visual design consisted of five subcategories, and included mimetic forms, perspective, facial expressions, recurring visual patterns, and image as symbol. Likewise, the category of color design was comprised of three subcategories, which included color as expressive form, color as tactile experience, and color as conventional sign.
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Analysis of Findings for Research Question Three As will be recalled, the third research question that my case study sought to address asked, “How do high school students talk about graphic novels in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group?” Analysis of the four discussion transcripts, individual interview transcripts, final whole group interview transcript, and summative journals the participants composed at the conclusion of the study indicated that they regarded the reading group discussions as having been characterized by an analytic focus. By this they meant that the discussions were concerned with examining underlying themes and meanings, and with understanding how the graphic novels functioned from the standpoint of design. Those who reported talking about graphic novels in other settings, and who appeared to have been situated as members of a community of comics readers—a term that I used at the start of this chapter to refer to a specific kind of community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998)—indicated that they were unaccustomed to talking about graphic novels in such a manner. Self-reports they provided suggested that the focus of their discussions about graphic novels in other contexts was influenced by the objectives toward which the community of comics readers to which they belonged envisioned itself working. For organizational purposes, I approach the discussion to follow in two parts. To begin, I examine the discussions that three of the participants—Hal, Barry, and Saki—reported having about graphic novels in other settings. Following this, I examine the reading group discussions, which the participants suggested were characterized by an analytic focus. Finding One: Discussions Characterized by an Analytic Focus Varied purposes for talking about graphic novels. Those participants who had the most experience reading graphic novels, and who appeared to have been situated as members of a community of comics readers prior to participating in my study, were cognizant of a
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difference between the discussions they had about graphic novels in the reading group and those they had about them in other settings. Asked to describe their conversations about graphic novels in other contexts, Hal, Barry, and Saki reported talking about characters and storylines they enjoyed, as well as artwork they appreciated. In each instance, the focus of their discussions appeared to reflect the objectives toward which the members of the community of comics readers to which they belonged envisioned themselves working. According to Hal, it was unusual for him and his father to ask questions of one another when they talked about comic books and graphic novels. Instead, he recalled talking with his father about the exploits of favorite characters, as well as the work of different writers and artists. Barry, who was a frequent participant in their conversations, described their discussions in similar terms, noting that they were likely to talk about “what came out this month, or just what kind of we liked about everything or what we didn't like about everything. And just like in general. Just kind of different artists and different writers and their styles and stuff” (Individual Interview, 24, 1079-1081). It was evident that Hal valued the conversations he had about comic books and graphic novels with his father and Barry. Indeed, he regarded them as opportunities for community building. Asked how their conversations differed from those he had about graphic novels in the reading group Hal explained: Um, ((pauses, exhales)) it's very informal. It, it'll be just like, uh, he brings up like, "I read this and I thought this was cool." And I'm like, "Yeah, yeah." And I'll, and, uh, we'll start talking about-- It's, it's really cool, uh, ((pause)) it’s really a bonding experience when you start talking about this. (Individual Interview, 6, 244-247) He went on to suggest that he, his father, and Barry seldom expressed an interest in exploring a work’s underlying themes and meanings, practices that he associated with the reading
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group. In doing so he again foregrounded the role their discussions played in allowing them to maintain their relationships with one another: Hal: Well, ((7 second pause)) we don't really, ((pause)) we don't really have to go into like meanings as much. It's like 'cause we already know what's going on. So we're, we're, we're both very familiar so it's more, um, relaxed and it-- Well it's relaxed in there. [But it's= R.:
[Yeah.
Hal: = more, it's more of a connection between us. (Individual Interview, 6, 238-258) In the community of comics readers to which Hal and Barry belonged, community building constituted an objective toward which the group appeared to work. A concern with underlying themes and meanings—that is, with the sort of issues that are of interest to the members of an academic discourse community—were of secondary importance. Self-reports Saki provided indicated that he was situated as a member of two communities of comics readers. The first was made up of his sister and several close friends, while the second consisted of students who participated in a manga/anime club that was sponsored by a teacher at the high school. Asked to describe the discussions he had about manga in each of these contexts, Saki suggested that they were marked by a different focus: Saki: Um, ((pause)) like I said there's this one friend who's very, um, who's very into literature like I am. R.: Yes. Saki: And so with that we usually talk, talk about, um, kind of the same way that we'd talk-- If we-- Sometimes we've discussed novels or, um, things like Les Miserab or some-- sometimes Harry Potter stuff. Or just, just anything that seems to have an interesting plot. And usually that, it's just, we just look at it in the same way that you would look at a book. R.: Okay. Saki: So along those lines. But with some of the other friends that I've met at this school, there's sort of a manga, anime club sort of thing. And it'll, it'll often be about specific characters or, um, "Oh did you, uh, did you see when that part happened?"
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Or "Wow! That was really neat, that!" Or-- Know what I mean? (Individual Interview, 5-6, 222-238) Though it is only speculation on my part, it is possible to account for the different focus of the conversations Saki had about manga in each setting by suggesting that they reflected the interests and objectives of the community of comics readers to which he belonged. Thus, while he and a friend who shared his interest in literature and writing were motivated to talk about manga much as they might a traditional work of literature, the members of the manga/anime club, who were presumably driven by a different set of objectives, preferred to talk about favorite scenes and characters. Again, this is only speculation, as my interpretation is based on self-reports Saki provided, as opposed to first-hand observations of the discussions he had in each setting. Nevertheless, one thing was clear: Hal, Barry, and Saki were cognizant of a qualitative difference between the conversations they had about graphic novels in their respective communities of comics readers, and those they had about graphic novels in the context of the reading group. Analytic focus of reading group discussions. Analysis of the individual and final whole-group interview transcripts, as well as transcripts of the four reading group discussions and the summative journals the participants composed, indicated that they regarded the conversations they had about graphic novels in the reading group as having been marked by an analytic focus. Specifically, they felt the discussions were concerned with identifying underlying themes and meanings, and with understanding how a particular graphic novel functioned from the standpoint of design. In that sense the participants felt the reading group discussions resembled the conversations they had about literature in their high school English classes. Hermione, for example, suggested that discussions in both contexts sought to understand a work’s “deeper meaning or literary devices or characters or connections etc.,
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with questions/prompts from an instructor” (Summative Journal, p. 3). Saki concurred, and observed that the reading group discussions, like those he experienced in English class, sought to understand the way “the story’s developed, symbols, metaphors, things like that” (Individual Interview, 11, 477-478). Saki and Hermione were not alone in this view. Bill was cognizant of a parallel between the focus of the reading group discussions and those he had about literature in his English classes as well. Asked to compare the discussions in each context he explained: Um, honestly they're very similar in, you know, we pick out core themes, ideas, context clues. We infer about, you know, archetypes, you know, any roles that people might be playing. Um, even in my adjusted, uh, language arts class we even started going on to philosophical topics like is this right or wrong or things like that. And I found that we were doing that for the graphic novel books. (Individual Interview, 20, 883-891) He volunteered that he was unaccustomed to talking or thinking about works written in the medium of comics in such a manner. Indeed, the realization that it was possible to do so surprised him. “Because I read a lot of manga,” he explained, “I really didn’t think that was possible” (Individual Interview, 20, 891-892). The latter realization surprised Hal as well, who suggested that the analytic focus of the reading group discussions distinguished them from the conversations he had about graphic novels in other settings, and who appreciated the opportunity to talk about them in such a manner. Reflecting on his experiences in the reading group at the conclusion of the study, and foregrounding a difference between the kind of talk he encountered in each setting, Hal wrote, “I liked that we looked at them in an analitical [sic] way. It was purely analytical as opposed to socialy [sic] talking about a comic” (Summative Journal, p. 2). Barry concurred, and in the final whole group interview he observed that while he had considerable experience reading graphic novels, “the thing that was new was kind of
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analyzing them” (Final Whole Group Interview, 5, 227-228). Inductive analysis of the discussion transcripts supported the participants’ observation that the reading group discussions were characterized by an analytic focus. Indeed, a recurring theme in the data suggested that the participants evaluated the design of images, analyzed themes, and shared their aesthetic responses (Rosenblatt, 1938/1995, 1978) to the graphic novels they read. Evaluating images. Throughout the study considerable attention was paid the rhetorical functions images served. For example, when the reading group met to talk about the first graphic novel, Persepolis, the participants spent a considerable amount of time talking about Satrapi’s (2003) drawing style. Attempting to account for what he recognized as a discrepancy between the substantive themes the narrative addressed and its use of flat, two-dimensional images, Saki raised the possibility that the images were intended to reflect the protagonist’s childlike view of the world. This led him to examine issues pertaining to form and content: Saki: It's interesting how there's the contrast between just the very dark sort of substance themes that are going on within the story between this, this rather, uh, comicy, almost, uh, childish sort of art style. And in, in some ways it's kind of along the lines that at, at the start that Marji just kind of doesn't understand all of the things that are going on there and kind of looking at it from a child's eye kind of thing. [Like To Kill a Mockingbird= R.: [Okay. Saki: =or something, that’s kind of what I thought of in a certain [way so-- I= R.:
[Okay.
Saki: =don't know. (Persepolis Discussion, 5, 201-213) Although he sensed that images served a similar function in the graphic novel, Barry argued that they detracted from the deeper issues the narrative addressed. Having characterized the graphic novel’s artwork as “cartoony looking” he explained:
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Like when I first like started looking through it I kind of liked that idea that it's through the eyes of a child, and like the, it's very simple but you're getting these really, you know, mature themes. But then as I go on it's like okay, the, and the novelty kind of wore off, and it's kind of like, like to be-- It seems kind of simple even though what they're talking about is so much more important. It just kind of, ((pause)) makes it seem less important in a way. (Persepolis Discussion, 7, 279-284) Sarah interpreted the function images served in Persepolis in a different manner. In her opinion, they lent the narrative a sense of humor that she assumed it would have lacked had it been presented as a traditional memoir. In her response journal she commented on the dexterity she felt the cartoonist showed in rendering images that served an array of purposes. “I don’t know how Satrapi can be so poignant with her pictures,” she wrote, “and so funny, and so serious. I like that the illustrations are in black and white. It somehow makes them more universal” (Persepolis Response Journal, p. 10). To construct interpretations of this sort, it was necessary for the participants to analyze the images they encountered in the graphic novels they read with the intention of understanding their relationship to the whole. Analyzing themes. In addition to evaluating images, the participants analyzed underlying themes they recognized in the graphic novels they read. One question Pride of Baghdad raises is whether it is possible to give freedom to others, or whether it is something people must earn for themselves. Toward the end of the reading group discussion attention was paid a scene in which American soldiers, having entered the city of Baghdad following a series of air strikes, encountered the protagonists (four lions) wandering the streets and killed them. When one soldier asks, “Those things aren’t wild are they?” another replies, “No, not wild. They’re free” (Vaughan & Henrichon, 2006, no pagination). The latter comment elicited angry responses from several of the participants, prompting me to ask whether they thought it was possible to give others their freedom. Sarah argued that the answer to my question was contingent on one’s definition of freedom, an observation that I pursued.
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Though it is lengthy, I present the following excerpt as an example of the sort of analytic talk that occurred as the participants explored underlying themes in the graphic novels they read: R.: Let's, let's, let's do that. I know you're going to hate me 'cause it's been a long day but let's-- What's, what's freedom? How do you define freedom? ((4 second pause)) Barry: I think it's different for everybody. Bill: I'm going to say something that seems a little radical. Sorry. R.: ((jokingly)) You're going to be a radical? Hal: ((to Bill)) Determinism? Bill: No, actually not. Well I could argue that. Uh, determinism and free will, that's, that's a very good argument. But um, I was going to say complete and total liberty, because I think freedom is encompassed in liberty, is anarchy. Where people are ultimately good and therefore have the ability to have ultimate freedom, [or liberty. Hal:
[###.
Bill: ((to Hal)) Right. Hal: People are responsible enough [to, to live= Bill:
[Exactly.
Hal: =and, ((pause)) work together without the rule of government. Bill: Yeah. Hal: But even Thoreau I think says that's not going to happen anytime soon. Bill: Oh, uh huh. Hermione: Well I mean I don't know [about like freedom= Hal:
[Or ever.
Hermione: =itself, like just that, just freedom even necessitates like, you know, the responsibility. Like I guess that'd be ideal for it to work, but I think freedom is just like you get, you can, ((pause)) do what you want to. But of course then that, the problem with that is, you know, I guess some people--
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Barry: Would [inhibit other people's freedom. Bill:
[Don't take--
Hermione: Yeah. [And then-- Or= Bill:
[Yeah.
Hermione: =are, might not do good things with that. But I mean I think freedom itself is still having the ability to just do that. (Pride Discussion, 33-34, 1501-1553) Exchanges of this sort, in which the participants engaged in analytic talk to interrogate philosophical and ethical questions they recognized in the graphic novels they read, were characteristic of each of the four reading group discussions. Sharing aesthetic responses. Though less prevalent, data analysis indicated that the participants shared aesthetic responses to the graphic novels they read during the reading group discussions as well. As conceptualized by Rosenblatt (1938/1995, 1978), an aesthetic response consists of an affective as well as an intellectual component. Although she acknowledged affective response as “an absolutely necessary condition of sound literary judgment,” she did not regard it as a “sufficient condition” (p. 72, emphasis in original). To the contrary, she argued “Without a real impact between the book and the mind of the reader, there can be no process of judgment at all, but honest recognition of one’s own reaction is not in itself sufficient to ensure sound critical opinion” (Rosenblatt, 1938/1995, p. 72). When the reading group met to talk about the graphic novel Laika, which, as will be recalled, examines the pressure that confronts a small group of Russian scientists who question the ethicality of sending a small dog aboard a rocket into space, but who are unable to save the animal because of fear of government reprisal, Hal talked about the influence the cartoonist’s use of small panels had on him as he read the text. Specifically, he construed
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them as having led him to experience the same feelings of oppression that he assumed the characters in the graphic novel confronted. He explained: What I really like about the book is-- And, and like during the first half of the book I really hated it is, well you start out with these, these-- The, the panels like change. 'Cause sometimes you'll have okay, pretty big size panels, and then you'll get these tiny panels where there's a lot of words, and I HATED that until I was, I started thinking about it. And I was thinking, WOW! This makes me feel, this makes me feel pretty like constricted and just like I'M in a small space. So I, I, I like how he, uh, he-- I think he, um, manipulated the size of the panel to try and affect how the reader felt. So he used the size of the panel to, uh, put a mood onto the reader. (Laika Discussion, 6, 252-259) In making this connection, Hal analyzed a relationship between content and form. When the group met to talk about Persepolis, attention was given a scene in which the protagonist, Marji, discovers that a close friend was killed by a missile that struck the apartment building in which she and her family lived (see Figure 4.4). The page on which
Figure 4.4 – Panel from Persepolis (p. 142) the discovery is made consists of five panels separated into three rows. The first panel, the largest of the five, depicts Marji and her mother passing the remains of the destroyed building. In the following panel Marji spies a bracelet lying amidst the ruins of the building. In the third panel, a close up, she raises her hand to her mouth as tears well up in her eyes. The fourth contains no written text, and simply depicts Marji bowing her head and covering
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her face with her hands. The final panel, which takes the reader into the character’s inner world, is inked black and bears the caption, “No scream in the world could have relieved my suffering and my anger.” When one of the participants referred to this sequence in the course of the reading group discussion Sarah raised her hand to her chest and exclaimed, “Oh! That killed me” (Persepolis Discussion, 8, 325-326). Asked to account for her response she explained: Sarah: ((leafs through the pages of her response journal)) I forget what I wrote about it, but I remember I wrote like-- I don't remember. But I just thought that like, like when she was like, "No scream in the world could have relieved my suffering and my anger," and she's like black. I, I don't think there was any other like [way she= R.:
[Yeah.
Sarah: = could've better have put an image there. Like just like blackness. Like I like, I kind of just like, I exper-- just experienced like a death. Like I was at a funeral today and like I just, like [black= R.:
[Yeah.
Sarah: =is what I felt, you [know? Like= R.:
[Right.
Sarah: =I couldn't have, if I had drawn something about how I felt I would have just drawn black. (Persepolis Discussion, 9, 370-388) In the same discussion Hermione suggested that the manner in which Satrapi (2003) drew the faces of characters lent the narrative an “eerie” feel. “Like I just thought sometimes the simple faces made it just really stark and traumatic,” she explained (Persepolis Discussion, 4, 174-178). Responses of this sort, which evinced a willingness on the part of the speaker to think critically about the role textual structures played in eliciting their affective responses to the graphic novels they read, are indicative of aesthetic response as Rosenblatt (1938/1995, 1978) envisioned it.
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Summary As the preceding discussion suggests, the participants regarded the reading group discussions as having been characterized by an analytic focus. Their assessment was supported by inductive analysis of the data, which indicated that they evaluated the functions images served in a narrative, analyzed underlying themes, and shared their aesthetic responses (Rosenblatt, 1938/1995, 1978) to the graphic novels they read. Those who had more experience reading graphic novels, and who appeared to have been situated as members of a community of comics readers prior to participating in the study, suggested that they were unaccustomed to talking about graphic novels analytically, although they reported having enjoyed the opportunity to do so. It is worth noting that while the participants were cognizant of a parallel between the focus of the reading group discussions and the focus of their English class discussions, the two appeared to have been distinguished by at least one difference. As explained in chapter three, the participants’ English teachers consistently suggested that a challenge they faced teaching literature pertained to their ability to lead students to view a text as an aesthetic object. Capturing a sentiment shared by the group, one teacher observed that students found it difficult to transition from talking about texts in a descriptive manner (e.g., identifying instances of symbolism, theme, etc.) to talking about the underlying rationale that guided the choices an author made. Yet as the preceding discussion suggests, considerable attention was paid the latter subject in the context of the reading group discussions. While it is only speculation on my part, it is possible that the inclusion of images in the graphic novels heightened the participants’ awareness of them as artificial constructs, the result of which led them to pay more attention to issues of design than might have been the case had they read a traditional novel. Although doing so was beyond the scope of my study,
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it would have been interesting to ask whether participating in the reading group discussions had any influence on the way the participants read and talked about traditional literature in their respective English classes. Analysis of Findings for Research Question Four The fourth, and final, research question asked, “To what extent, if any, do high school students conceptions of graphic novels change as they are given opportunities to read and talk about them in a voluntary after-school reading group?” To answer that question I drew on transcripts of the individual interviews, responses to open-ended questions that were posed at the conclusion of the four reading group discussions, the transcript of the final whole group interview, and summative journals the participants composed prior to attending the final reading group meeting. Three recurring themes are analyzed in the section to follow. First, while the participants who were less familiar with graphic novels at the start of the study expressed surprise at their depth, those who had more experience reading them suggested that participating in the reading group confirmed their view of graphic novels (and comic books) as a substantive form of reading material. Second, self-reports the participants provided indicated that participating in the reading group discussions brought about changes in the way they interacted with graphic novels. Specifically, four of the six participants reported spending more time looking at images, while two attested to the pleasure they found in reading and talking about graphic novels from an analytic standpoint, a practice with which they were unaccustomed. A self-reported provided by one of the latter two participants indicated that participating in the study led him to begin reading graphic novels analytically in other contexts, a change that he attributed specifically to his involvement in the reading group discussions. Finally, when asked what knowledge a person needed to read a graphic
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novel, the participants cited a general ability to read, much as they had at the beginning of the study. Finding One: Substantive Form of Reading Material Readers will recall that at the beginning of this chapter I analyzed a series of themes that emerged in response to the first research question, one of which indicated that the participants conceived of graphic novels as falling into three categories: manga, superhero graphic novels, and what I called academic graphic novels. Those who were less familiar with graphic novels, or who read only manga, tended to associate Western graphic novels with the superhero genre, which they held in low regard. Though the aforementioned categories remained intact at the conclusion of the study, the participants who had less experience reading graphic novels suggested that they found them more thought provoking than they anticipated. Those who read them on a regular basis, on the other hand, reported that participating in the reading group confirmed their view of graphic novels (and comic books) as a substantive form of reading material. Sarah, who had read one graphic novel prior to participating in the study, was surprised by both the substance of the graphic novels she read in the reading group and their ability to inspire thought. She credited one of them, Pride of Baghdad, with having altered her worldview. Asked to describe her expectations of graphic novels prior to participating in the reading group she explained: Um, ((pause)) I'm not sure. I didn't think they were going to be so like thought provoking. I thought-- Like I don't want to keep going back to Watchmen, but I thought that was kind of in a category of its own as the content of graphic novels. I didn't know there were going to be so-- Like I didn't know that I was going to be like laying awake at night thinking about like Pride of Baghdad and like all this stuff. And I didn't know they were so, ((pause)) dense. Like in the images or just-- Yeah. I didn't know they were going to like have such a big impact on how I look at things in the world. (Individual Interview, 4, 142-151)
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Asked whether her conceptions of graphic novels had changed to any extent as a result of participating in the reading group discussions Sarah responded, “They've changed a lot (Individual Interview, 4, 160). Later, when I asked her what she might tell a teacher who was entertaining the idea of using a graphic novel in the classroom, she drew a parallel between the discussions she had about literature in her English class, and those she had about graphic novels in the context of the reading group. In doing so she cited the depth she had come to appreciate in graphic novels, as well as their ability to inspire thought: Well I would say, ((pause)) I mean I would say that they should at least give it a shot. I mean I think that we've had better discussions based on graphic novels than I have with like The Crucible and other things. And you can, I mean students take away-- I think all of us have taken away just as much from like our graphic novel ex-- reading experience as we have from our classroom reading experience. Maybe more. And I think they're just, there's more, there's more substance to graphic novels than there are to just regular literature. (Individual Interview, 22, 965-971) The depth of the graphic novels the reading group read, coupled with their ability to inspire thought, impressed Bill as well. In his summative journal he indicated that his conception of graphic novels as a form of reading material had changed as a result of participating in the reading group. He wrote, “I really can say that in the beginning all I liked about reading comics was the entertainment value that they presented. Now I really do feel that they are a purfect [sic] literary example of what I could pull from any other type of media” (Summative Journal, p. 2). He reiterated this point when the group gathered for the final whole group interview. Asked whether there was anything that surprised him about the graphic novels he read he explained: Bill: I was just-- The same thing I said earlier. The, the amount of depth and the underlying tones and everything that you can pull from a graphic novel, it was really, I, I think amazing, because I, I honestly didn't see that before. I've been reading manga for [like= R.:
[Yeah.
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Bill: =three or four years and just never saw anything as-- It was basically like watching TV while reading. So, [um-R.: [That's an interesting analogy. ((laughs)) I like that. Yeah, I've never thought of it that way. Bill: And I've, that's mainly the reason that I always did it is 'cause it was entertainment. And as I've grown older I've noticed that I like more intellectually stimulating things like larger books that have some underlying tones. You know, movies that have philosophical undertones. Whatever. Things like that. And so why wouldn't graphic novels be the same way? And I'm glad that there are graphic novels like that and that REALLY struck me as something that I haven't seen this before and I'm, I'm really happy to say it. (Final Whole Group Interview, 13, 569-588) It is interesting to note that Bill did not regard himself as having “seen” the same depth in graphic novels prior to participating in the study. On one hand it is possible to interpret his statement as a comment on the quality of the graphic narratives he read in the reading group. At the same time, however, one might wonder whether he would have recognized the same degree of depth in the manga he read had he adopted an analytical stance in his transactions with them. Hermione, who had read Maus and Watchmen prior to participating in the study, constitutes an instance of disconfirming evidence so far as this particular finding is concerned. Responding to an open-ended question that asked whether participating in the reading group influenced the way she conceived of graphic novels to any extent she wrote, “I guess it hasn’t changed that much, really. I came in with an open mind, considering them legitimate literature sometimes, with the potential to convey deep, thoughtful message [sic]” (Pride Response Journal, p. 20). When she composed her summative journal at the study’s conclusion, however, she commented on the depth of the graphic novels she read in the reading group. Noting that she enjoyed reading in general, and “loved [the graphic novels] like any other book,” she wrote, “I suppose I was mildly surprised about how loaded they all were. Each had so many implicit messages, or deeper meanings” (Summative Journal, p. 4).
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Like Sarah, Hermione credited participating in the reading group discussions with having influenced her worldview. “And our discussions were pretty relevent [sic],” she wrote, “Some of them made me think pretty hard on and revise my world views, particularly Pride and Laika” (Summative Journal, p. 7). While the participants who had less experience reading Western graphic novels prior to participating in the study came to appreciate their depth as a form of reading material, those who read them on a regular basis, and who appeared to have been situated as members of communities of comics readers, reported that taking part in the reading group discussions confirmed their view of graphic novels and comic books as a substantive form of reading material. Responding to an open-ended question that was posed at the conclusion of the Pride of Baghdad discussion, and asked whether participating in the reading group discussions influenced the manner in which he conceived of graphic novels, Barry wrote, “My idea of graphic novels has changed very little to none. I have always seen them as no less than any other form of media” (Pride Response Journal, p. 5). Responding to the same question, Saki, who read only manga, reiterated his belief that works written in the medium of comics had the potential to be literary. He wrote, “I’ve always believed that graphic novels had literary potential, and this discussion group has only confirmed that belief” (Pride Response Journal, p. 9). When he composed his summative journal, however, Saki indicated that his view of Western graphic novels had changed. “I had heard about serious graphic novels like Maus before the reading group started,” he wrote, “but I didn’t figure there were a lot of American ones, compared to ‘superhero comics,’ so I was pleasantly surprised at the sort of content contained in these books” (Summative Journal, p. 4).
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When the participants met for the final whole group interview, both Hal and Barry explained that taking part in the reading group discussions validated their view of graphic novels as a substantive form of reading material. As will be recalled, at the start of the study they cited comic books and graphic novels that fell into the superhero genre and addressed socially relevant issues as proof of their ability to explore substantive subject matter. They did so during the final whole group interview as well. Asked whether there was anything that surprised him about the graphic novels he read over the course of the study Hal explained, “Well it's, it's a different kind of, uh, graphic storytelling but I, I wasn't really surprised by it. 'Cause I, I've read deep stories before like, uh, one of my like—“ (Final Whole Group Interview, 14, 608-609). When Barry interrupted him and asked whether he was thinking of Identity Crisis, a popular mainstream comic book series, Hal explained that he was thinking of The Question by Dennis O’Neal, and he proceeded to talk about the various social issues it addressed. Finding Two: Changed Interactions with Graphic Novels A second change the participants reported so far as their conception of graphic novels as a form of reading material was concerned had to do with the way they interacted with them. As will be recalled, at the start of the study the participants regarded graphic novels as an accessible form of reading material that was easily—and, more precisely, quickly— consumed, a fact they attributed specifically to their scant use of written language. At the conclusion of the study, four of the six participants reported spending more time looking at images in graphic novels, a change they attributed directly to their involvement in the reading group discussions. Two of the participants did not report any degree of change in the amount of time they spent examining images. They did, however, suggest that they were unaccustomed to reading and talking about graphic novels analytically, and they reported
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having enjoyed the opportunity to do so. A self-report one of the two provided suggested that participating in the reading group discussions led him to appropriate a new way of reading graphic novels, the result of which appeared to expand his repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for doing so. Devoting more time to images. When I met with Hermione for her individual interview, I recalled that when she composed her response journal for Persepolis she indicated that she found herself paying more attention to written language than she did images. Asked to expand on that observation, she explained that she found the artwork in Persepolis relatively simple, and had assumed that the written text carried much of the narrative. As such, she didn’t recognize a need to devote as much time to its visual design. Citing an image in which political prisoners were tortured, however, she recalled a detail that she had overlooked, and that was brought to her attention when the reading group met to talk about the graphic novel. She suggested that this led her to devote more time to looking at images in the graphic novels she subsequently read. Asked whether she thought participating in the reading group discussions played a role in bringing about that change she replied, “Yeah, when other people would comment on things I didn’t remember and I’d be like I need to pay attention more” (Individual Interview, 17, 750-751). Sarah reported spending more time looking at images as well. Like Hermione, she also attributed this change to her involvement in the reading group discussions. Following the discussion about Pride of Baghdad, she responded to an open-ended question that asked the participants whether their conceptions of graphic novels had changed to any extent as a result of talking about them with other readers. Responding to the question Sarah wrote, “I’ve begun to read graphic novels differently since we have discussed them. I try to pay more attention to the art work and imagery, because other people noticed things I thought I
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should have” (Pride Response Journal, p. 15). She reiterated this point later in the study when she composed her summative journal: The conversations we had were crucial to my reading and understanding of the novels. I began thinking more and more about how I went about reading the novels. The other members noticed things I hadn’t, and it led to me reading the novels more carefully. It almost made me look closer at the artwork. (Summative Journal, p. 3, emphasis in original) Sarah’s response suggests that participating in the reading group discussions led her to reflect metagcognitively on her reading practices. That she credited interacting with other members of the group with having led her to read “the novels more carefully,” and with having led her to devote more time to artwork, is consistent with a sociocultural theory of literacy learning, which assumes that interpersonal processes are transformed into intrapersonal processes as people participate in socially organized activities (Vygotsky, 1978). Bill credited participating in the reading group discussion with having influenced the manner in which he looked at images in graphic novels as well. Specifically, he was surprised to discover that it was possible to analyze the visual aspects of graphic novels. During the course of the final whole group interview he explained: Well I really, ((pause)) because I always read manga versus actual comic books I didn't understand like the amount of analysis you could, you could actually put into it. You could draw a lot of things from the imagery, which we did with like Night Fisher and Pride of Baghdad and all that. And I think that was really important for me 'cause I really do like comic books but that really helped me just sort of be like there's a lot more to what the author's trying to say than just a story. There's all these underlying tones, you know, thought processes, analogies that they're trying to put in here that if you look deep enough you can really get at. (Final Whole Group Interview, 8, 324-331) Similar to Sarah and Hermione, Bill credited an exchange that took place when the reading group met to talk about Persepolis with having altered the manner in which he thought about images in the graphic novels he subsequently read. During the discussion he directed the group’s attention to two panels in Persepolis, one of which showed young
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Iranian boys being killed in combat on a battlefield. Directly beneath it, the protagonist appeared dancing with friends at a party. At the time Bill criticized Satrapi (2003) for having failed to recognize that the latter image detracted from the emotional weight of the former. When Hermione intervened and shared her belief that the images were intentionally juxtaposed, however, I concurred with her. Having done so, I modeled the approach that I took to reading the sequence of images, and suggested that the forms in each panel appeared to echo one another. Although I was not aware of it at the time, this exchange motivated Bill to rethink the approach he took to looking at images in the graphic novels he read in the weeks that followed. Recounting the episode when we met for his individual interview he explained: Bill: Um, ((pause)) but as we got further on and when we read Night Fisher and Pride of Baghdad I tended to see myself looking at more and more the context because we were talking about it even before Persepolis. [Just saying= R.:
[Right.
Bill: =that, you know, all the expressions, the pages, and you were just like the way that the bodies are positioned when, um, when all of the young men had been blown up from the landmines and they [had the keys= R.:
[Oh, right.
Bill: =around their neck, and then they were dancing [and they had= R.: conversation.
[I remember that
Bill: =the same body language sort of motion. R.: Yeah. Bill: Or, um, image. And things like that kind of popped up to me then after we talked about them and I started to see myself doing that with graphic novels because I normally don't do it with graphic novels. (Individual Interview, 23-24, 1041-1063)
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Again, this episode suggests that participating in the reading group discussions played an important role in leading Bill to alter the manner in which he interacted with the images in the assigned graphic novels. The subject of transformed reading practices was evident in the final whole group interview as well. When I asked the participants whether they thought that participating in the reading group discussions influenced the manner in which they read the assigned graphic novels Hermione replied, “I mean yeah, I think so just ‘cause like when they got brought up in the discussion then I’d be more aware of it.” She went on to say that she would “try to notice where [figures in an image] were orienting or like the shadow on the face just because it had been brought up before or something like that” (Final Whole Group Interview, 38, 1706-1714). Likewise, Saki credited observations the other members of the group shared with having led him to look at the graphic novels in ways that had not previously occurred to him: Each time we had the discussions, um, there were some things that were brought up that I had thought about before in the journal before that time but there were a lot of things that the rest of you had thought of that never occurred to me and just, and just different ways of reading into it that just struck me. Maybe the way that the panel was laid out or this kind of color could mean something. Or maybe the fact that all of Pride of Baghdad takes place over the course of a day at different times, it symbolizes something. (Final Whole Group Interview, 38, 1731-1737) It is interesting to note that Saki credited the reading group discussions with having led him to consider alternative strategies for “reading into” conventions such as color and space, as this suggests that participating in the discussions may have led him to identify alternative possibilities for working with Available Designs (New London Group, 1996). Reading analytically. Neither Hal nor Barry reported spending more time looking at images as a result of participating in the reading group discussions. They did, however, suggest that they were unaccustomed to reading and talking about graphic novels
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analytically, by which they meant examining a text’s underlying meanings with the intention of determining how it functioned from a design standpoint. Moreover, they reported having enjoyed the opportunity to do so. When the reading group met for the final whole group interview Hal explained: Um, well I like, like I, I like when in book discussions, and you go and you look for like what the author gets at you-- And that kind of, um, looking deeper into the text. But I, I, I mean I, I haven't really done that as much with a comic book. So I mean I was all for it and I really loved that. And that's something I wrote about in here, ((refers to summative journal)) how, uh, I just think it’s FANTASTIC. And for me it was great because you didn't only, you didn't only look at the literary stance you also looked at an artistic, uh, visual stance as well. Where ((clears throat)) you can, you, you, you've got the text in front of you and you can pick out bits and pieces, but, uh, you've also got this nice scene behind you and this movement and all this other, you know, art terms or visual terms that are going in. And you can, you can sense something and you can read something from something that isn't a word, something that's, uh, right there in front of you, something that is drawn or painted or, uh, something else. (Final Whole Group Interview, 6, 255-266) For Hal, who fancied himself a “visual guy,” the opportunity to talk critically about images allowed him to capitalize on his strengths as a learner. As his remarks indicate, it also led him to appreciate the extent to which it was possible to read sign systems other than written language. Barry enjoyed reading and talking analytically about the assigned graphic novels as well. That this should be the case surprised him. Asked what, if anything, he enjoyed about the graphic novels he read in the reading group he explained, “Um, well in general, it really wasn’t-- Reading them wasn't new but the, the thing that was new was kind of analyzing them” (Final Whole Group Interview, 5, 227-228). He credited his experience in the reading group with having influenced the manner in which he read comic books and graphic novels for pleasure in other contexts. When Bill suggested that he found the reading group discussions more productive than those he had about literature in school, Barry responded:
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I, I thought it was funny you said it was more productive than the classroom environment because I was, ((pause)) I was reading, uh, this comic-- I was reading this story, comic book just the other day and after I finished reading it-- Usually I finished-- Like before I finished reading it and I kind of like set it down and was like, "Oh, that was pretty good" or whatever. I put it down and I was like, "What did that story mean?" ((R. laughs)) So this class in like however many, seventeen weeks or whatever got me to do what, you know, twelve years of school couldn't get me to do which is actually in my own personal life think about what I just read rather than just reading it and enjoying kind of what I read. (Final Whole Group Interview, 9, 370381) Though any such assertion is speculative on my part, it is tempting to view Barry’s remarks as indicative of his having internalized (Vygotsky, 1978) the analytic approach to reading and talking about graphic novels that he encountered in the reading group. Barry’s comments are even more striking in that they lend credence to the assertion that people are able to expand their repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for interacting with graphic novels as they interact with individuals from other communities of comics readers. Indeed, this observation was echoed by self-reports the other participants provided. As was seen, four of the six participants reported spending more time looking at images than they had when the study began. In each instance they attributed that change directly to their involvement in the reading group discussions. Finding Three: Knowledge Needed to Read Graphic Novels As my analysis of the themes that emerged in response to the first research question suggested, the participants conceived of graphic novels as an accessible form of reading material that made use of written language sparingly, and that was consequently easily consumed. Asked what knowledge they thought was needed to read graphic novels, the participants cited a general ability to read, which they defined as the ability to decode written text and adhere to Western conventions for reading from left-to-right, top-to-bottom. Despite their insistence on this point, observations they shared elsewhere in the study contradicted
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that position. Manga, which adheres to Japanese conventions for reading, was cited as an exception, and Hermione proposed that reading it might entail “slight special knowledge” (First Whole Group Interview, 25, 1137-1141). Likewise, Barry recalled knowing readers who struggled to make sense of comics-specific conventions such as speech balloons and page layouts, as well as artistic conventions such as foreshortening. That they should fail to grasp what he considered “simple stuff” surprised him. Finally, those participants who read graphic novels on a regular basis, and who were seemingly situated as members of a community of comics readers prior to participating in the study, drew a distinction between reading graphic novels on a surface level and comprehending their plot, and reading them on a deeper level. Asked at the conclusion of the study whether one needed any particular knowledge to read a graphic novel, the participants again cited a general ability to read. As was the case at the start of the study, observations they shared contradicted that assertion. When the participants met for the final whole group interview I asked whether they thought there was anything readers needed to know in order to read graphic novels on a deeper level. As he had at the start of the study, Barry again cited a general ability to read: Um, just, know how to look at it. I mean if it's an intelligent person that knows how to look deeper than the surface level of things, that will question what's going on, like will, will question the story, I think all you need to know is, you know, left to right and down. (Final Whole Group Interview, 30, 1356-1359) His response is notable for a tension between two themes. Though he assumed that the ability to read a graphic novel entailed little more than a sense of familiarity with the Western convention for reading from “left to right and down,” he also identified a need for readers to “know how to look at it,” to “know how to look deeper than the surface level of things,” and “question what’s going on.” As was argued earlier in this chapter, knowing how to do these things is contingent on one’s familiarity with the conventions that graphic novels employ.
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Viewed in this light, it is possible that Barry underestimated the knowledge he drew on as a reader in his transactions with graphic novels. Other observations the participants shared during the final whole group interview contradicted the idea that one has only to possess a general ability to read in order to read graphic novels. For example, Barry recalled having struggled to read panels that made use of multiple speech balloons when he began reading comics as a child. Responses the other participants shared indicated that they faced a similar challenge: Barry: I remember when I was a kid and they had the, the balloons that were like this and they were coming from different people. Hal: Oh yeah! That [really confused me. Saki:
[Oh, yeah!
Hermione:
[Yeah.
Barry: I could, I could not, I could not get till [like the= Bill:
[What?
Barry: =eighteen-thousandth-- I was like, "Ohhh!" Hal: It-- 'Cause, 'cause I would be like-- I, I would, I would-- There'd be a, a bunch of, [uh, bubbles in the, in= Barry: [Like word balloon? Hal: =the same box and I'd be like, "Well [I, I read that one, [which= Saki:
[What's the order?
Hermione:
[Yeah. ((laughs))
Hal: =one am I supposed to move to now? Hermione: Right. Hal: But, you know, now that I'm older-- (Final Whole Group Interview, 30-31, 1372-1409)
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Toward the end of the same exchange Saki observed, “There’s a certain technique in knowing how to read those comics that makes it tricky” (Final Whole Group Interview, 31, 1433-1440). That the participants may have underestimated the knowledge they drew on when they read graphic novels was evident when I asked whether they thought readers stood to gain anything from reading a graphic novel that they were unable to gain from reading a traditional novel. Responding to my question, Saki suggested that interacting with image and written language involved different processes. He explained: Um, with the visual representation there's a lot of room for, um, in-- interpreting what's there that you, that's different than how you get that out of the text. When, when it's written there's one way to look at what it actually says and then what that really means and such. But with an image that's all, you can look at it in the same way, you can still analyze it but the way you go about doing that is different. It's a different type of medium with a different type of, uh, different types of ways of expressing things. (Final Whole Group Interview, 15, 645-650) Intrigued by his observation, I asked the participants whether they thought it was possible to “read” images. This question inspired considerable debate. Hermione was reluctant to accept the idea that one “read” images. As she worked through her response, however, she introduced a metaphor that led her to rethink her position. Referring to a series of framed images that hung on the walls of the room in which the reading group met she explained: I mean I was just kind of like looking around at these pictures and thinking-- I mean I don't think you can read a picture in the same way you can read text but I, I mean maybe like you can-- I mean of, of course not exactly the same way but you can read a face I guess so-- (Final Whole Group Interview, 16, 730-734) Echoing an observation Saki shared, she argued that if one read images, the processes involved in doing so differed from those involved in reading print text, though she was unable to explain how.
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As conceptualized by Hal, the ability to read an image entailed two ingredients: a willingness to interrogate it, and an understanding of the artistic conventions it employed. Saki espoused a similar view when he identified what he regarded as two prerequisites for reading images. He explained, “Um, bas-- basically, there's some curi-- you have to have some curiosity. You have to look for things that might be in there. What could this mean? And then you've got to know what to look for too. Those are the two requirements for analyzing something” (Final Whole Group Interview, 37-38, 1691-1697). Again, one might argue that knowing “what to look for” in an image is contingent on one’s familiarity with the conventions it employs. As Mitchell (1986) observes, “In order to know how to read [an image], we must know how it speaks, what is proper to say about it and on its behalf” (p. 28). In the case of graphic novels, readers must also possess a sense of familiarity with what Eisner (1985) refers to as “the ‘grammar’ of Sequential Art” (p. 8). Summary In reading the graphic novels they encountered in this study, the participants drew on Available Designs (New London Group, 1996) for a host of semiotic resources, only one of which was written language. Image, color, space, lettering, and so forth were found to have constituted resources that were equally important, and the participants drew on them to lend additional layers of meaning to the interpretations they constructed. Yet when they were asked at the conclusion of the study what knowledge one needed to read a graphic novel, they continued to cite a general ability to read. Although comments they shared elsewhere attested to their awareness of the important role images play in conveying meaning in a graphic novel, they did not appear to have been cognizant of the extent to which they drew on them and other semiotic resources they encountered in the design of a text.
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As the participants read the graphic novels, they moved between different semiotic resources, drawing on their knowledge of grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) associated with each of them, and using it to construct meaning. In doing so they filled gaps (Iser, 1978) in the narrative, the result of which led them to introduce information that was not otherwise stated in the linguistic design of a graphic novel. In this regard they were remarkably active as readers, and while they may have underestimated the extent to which they did so, they drew on a considerable body of knowledge to interpret the graphic novels they read. In the context of this study, then, reading graphic novels entailed specific expectations of what to look for, a point that Bill implicitly seemed to acknowledge when, at the conclusion of the final whole group interview, he compared the act of reading an image— and, by extension, a graphic novel—to his experiences searching for fossils in creek beds: When, um, I take walks and I go by the river sometimes and I always look in the rock beds because I have the keen ability to find fossils. Just ((snaps fingers)) right off the bat I kind of look and say, "There's one over there, there, there, there, there." And other people look at that and say how do you do that and it's I know what to look for. And I've met other people who can do the exact same thing but with a different item or different things. And I'm like how do you do that? And you have to be able to train yourself to look for either different perceptions or different things inside an entire image. And it's really important for that with something like a graphic novel. (Final Whole Group Interview, 39, 1754-1761) That the participants assumed that reading a graphic novel entailed little more than a general ability to read might be interpreted as a sign that they reserved the term “reading” for interactions with print text. At the same time, however, it is possible that the knowledge they drew on to construct meaning in their transactions with graphic novels remained tacit. Conclusion As demonstrated in this chapter, the six high school students who participated in my case study, and who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers, had a range of experience reading graphic novels. Self-reports they provided indicated that prior to
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participating in the study three of them were situated as members of a community of comics readers—a term that I used to refer to a particular kind of community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), one that values works written in the medium of comics, and shares recourse to a common set of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) for interacting with them. Membership in such a community, however, is not a prerequisite to one’s being able to read a graphic novel. Indeed, I found that all of the participants were capable of reading graphic novels, regardless of their experience with the form. Nevertheless, a recurring theme in the data suggested that individuals who were situated in a community of comics readers were introduced, often through the support of a sponsor (Brandt, 2001), to communally negotiated ways of reading and talking about graphic novels. As the participants interacted with one another in the reading group discussions, they appeared to appropriate new strategies for interacting with graphic novels, thereby expanding their repertoire (Iser, 1978) for doing so. In bringing this chapter to a close I wish to state that the reading group functioned as a community of comics readers. In situating my study at Hamilton High School, and in creating a context that led a group of individuals with a range of experience with graphic novels to come together with the intention of reading and talking about them, I acted as a sponsor (Brandt, 2001). Likewise, as the participants supported one another’s efforts to talk about the graphic novels they read, and as they worked together to interpret them, they functioned as sponsors (Brandt, 2001) for one another. As Saki observed at the start of the final meeting, “I think everyone had a different interpretation of the text, and I think each time that someone brought something up the others kind of tried to work together what they thought responded to it” (Final Whole Group Interview, 7, 289-292). The other participants
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agreed with his observation, leading Hal to exclaim, “We’re building it together” (Final Whole Group Interview, 7, 299). As was seen, a recurring theme in the data suggested that over time their involvement in the reading group discussions influenced the manner in which the participants conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material. Those who had less experience reading graphic novels reported finding them more thought provoking than they expected. Likewise, the majority of the participants credited their involvement in the reading group discussions with having brought about changes in the way they interacted with graphic novels. To this end four of the six reported spending more time looking at images, while a fifth suggested that he had begun to read graphic novels analytically in other settings. In the chapter to follow I revisit the four research questions that framed my case study, and synthesize and discuss the findings that emerged in response to each of them. Having done so, I discuss the study’s limitations. To bring the chapter to a close I examine the implications of my study, both for pedagogy and for future research.
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CHAPTER 5: CONCLUSIONS AND IMPLICATIONS
The following chapter consists of four sections. To begin, I review the qualitative research project that I conducted, and revisit the four research questions that my case study sought to address. Following this, I synthesize and discuss the overall findings as they pertain to those questions. Having identified and discussed the study’s perceived limitations, I conclude the chapter by exploring my study’s implications for educators, and by specifying directions for future research. Overview of the Study As the concept of multimodality continues to attract attention, literacy educators have celebrated the educative merit of graphic novels (Carter, 2007; Monnin, 2010). Graphic novels (and, to a lesser extent, comic books) are said to motivate so-called “reluctant” readers (Crawford, 2004; Dorrell, 1987; Simmons, 2003; Snowball, 2005), and support English language learners (Chun, 2009; Ranker, 2007; Williams, 1995). Additionally, graphic novels are regarded as a tool that teachers can use to support students who struggle with literacy as it is traditionally conceived (Bitz, 2004; Frey & Fisher, 2004; Morrison et al., 2002). More recently, literacy educators have acknowledged works written in the medium of comics as a complex form of reading material (Allen & Ingulsrud, 2003; Jacobs, 2007; Versaci, 2001, 2007), and foregrounded the value of using graphic novels with a range of audiences (Carter, 2007). Still, few applied studies have asked how proficient readers, particularly those at
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the high school level, read, talk about, and experience graphic novels as a form of reading material. To address a gap in the literature on graphic novels, and to contribute to a growing, but already substantial, body of scholarship on multimodal reading, I conducted a qualitative research project that took the form of a case study and asked how six high school students who were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers read and talked about four graphic novels in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group. Readers will recall that my study sought to address the following questions: 1) What are high school students’ experiences reading graphic novels, and how do they conceive of them as a form of reading material? 2) What semiotic resources do high school students draw on as they read graphic novels, and in what ways do they work with them? 3) How do high school students talk about graphic novels in the context of an afterschool reading group? 4) To what extent, if at all, do high school students’ conceptions of graphic novels change as they are given opportunities to read and talk about them in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group? As explained in chapter three, I collected data for my study using whole-group and individual semi-structured interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994), as well as participant observation (Spradley, 1980). Additionally, I collected a range of written artifacts, including completed reading interest surveys, response journals the participants maintained as they read each of the four graphic novels, and a summative journal they composed at the conclusion of the study. To analyze my data, I made use of grounded theory (Bogdan & Biklen, 1982; Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1998). Specifically, I used open and axial coding
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(Strauss & Corbin, 1998) to fracture the data and identify emergent and recurring themes, and selective coding to integrate and refine them. Through this process I was able to identify a series of central themes (Strauss & Corbin, 1998) that spoke to the four research questions I sought to address. The overall findings for my study are synthesized and discussed in the sections to follow. Synthesis and Discussion of Findings Research Question One Readers will recall that the first question my case study asked was, “What are high school students’ experiences reading graphic novels, and how do they conceive of them as a form of reading material?” To answer that question I drew on reading interest surveys the participants completed at the start of the study, transcripts of the first two reading group meetings, both of which took the form of semi-structured whole group interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994), and transcripts of individual semi-structured interviews that I conducted midway through the study. For organizational purposes, I approach the discussion to follow in two parts. To begin, I address the findings that emerged in response to the first part of the research question. Finding one: Entering a community of comics readers. As demonstrated in chapter four, the six students who volunteered to participate in my study had a range of experience reading graphic novels. Whereas Hal and Barry read comic books and graphic novels extensively, Sarah had only read one. Saki had no experience reading Western graphic novels, though he read manga frequently. Given his familiarity with the medium, I considered him one of the more experienced readers in the group. Although Bill and Hermione read manga, they did not do so with the degree of frequency that Saki did. In addition to manga, they had both read one or two graphic novels. If one were to construe
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experience reading graphic novels as a continuum that ranged from highly experienced to inexperienced, Bill and Hermione occupied a position somewhere toward the center. Readers will recall that a recurring theme in the data suggested that the participants who had the most experience reading works written in the medium of comics—Hal, Barry, and Saki—were situated as members of what I called a community of comics readers, a construct that, as explained in chapter two, has its roots in the concept of communities of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), as well as Fish’s (1980) notion of interpretive communities. In each instance evidence suggested that a sponsor (Brandt, 2001) introduced the participants to graphic novels (or, in Saki’s case, manga). More importantly, that person—typically a family member or friend—created a context in which the participants were able to talk about the graphic novels they read with more experienced readers, thereby allowing them to practice what I called comics literacy. Self-reports Hal provided indicated that his father functioned as a sponsor (Brandt, 2001). He ensured that his son had access to comic books and graphic novels in his home literacy environment, and he and Hal talked about the comic books and graphic novels they read on a regular basis. Barry credited his friendship with Hal, whom he met in middle school, with having transformed what was for him a passing interest in comics into a fullblown passion. Likewise, Saki credited his younger sister with having introduced him to manga. Although he reported talking with his sister about the manga he read, the precise role she played in their conversations was unclear, the result of which led me to suggest that he may have constituted an instance of disconfirming evidence so far as the sponsor (Brandt, 2001) construct was concerned. If one defines the sponsor (Brandt, 2001) role narrowly, limiting it to introducing novice readers to graphic novels, then Sarah, who reported having come across the one
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graphic novel she read on her own, constitutes a negative case (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). If, however, one acknowledges that sponsors also support a novice’s entrance into a community of comics readers by creating opportunities for them to talk about graphic novels with more experienced readers, then it is possible that she, Hermione, and Bill either did not have the opportunity to enter such a community, or were not interested in doing so. Each of them reported talking about traditional literature with friends on a regular basis, the result of which seemed to suggest that they were situated as members of a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) that valued a different form of reading material. The aforementioned finding—namely, that readers are introduced to works written in the medium of comics (e.g., comic books, graphic novels, manga) through the support of a sponsor (Brandt, 2001), and that they read and talk about them in the context of a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998)—is supported by other research. Norton’s (2003) work with 34 elementary school students who expressed an affinity for Archie comics led her to characterize Archie readers as “an informal and loosely connected reading community” whose members “were introduced to Archie comics by friends” (p. 143). Likewise, Romanelli (2009) found that the majority of the adults who participated in her study regarded comic books and graphic novels as “primary means of engaging with friends and family members of a similar age to the readers” (p. 252). Allen and Ingulsrud (2005) conducted a series of studies that asked how Japanese students in junior high and college learned to read manga. As a result of their work, they concluded that “children become manga readers in a community” (p. 269). Like the more experienced readers in my study, the informants in Allen and Ingulsrud’s (2005) research project recalled having been introduced to manga by parents, siblings, and friends, the result of which led the researchers
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to conclude, “Friends play an important role in introducing readers to manga and providing a community of readers where discussion and consultation take place” (p. 272). Membership in a community of comics readers is not a prerequisite to one’s being able to read graphic novels, however. Indeed, Allen and Ingulsrud (2005) found that their informants regarded learning to read manga as “a process that is largely self-taught” (p. 272). Likewise, I found that all of the participants in my study were capable of reading graphic novels regardless of their experience with the form. At the same time, however, participating in a community of comics readers does appear to create opportunities for readers to practice comics literacy. Moreover, it exposes them to interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) that a particular community has devised for interacting with comic books, graphic novels, or manga. My study contributes to the scholarship on graphic novel reading in that it suggests that people are capable of appropriating new strategies for reading and talking about them as they interact with members of other communities of comics readers. As I argued at the conclusion of chapter four, the reading group that I sponsored (Brandt, 2001) functioned as a community of comics readers in that it brought a group of individuals with a range of experience reading graphic novels together for the purpose of talking about them with one another. As will be recalled, the participants characterized the reading group discussions as having been marked by an analytic focus. Those who had more experience reading graphic novels were unaccustomed to talking about them in such a manner, the result of which suggested that they encountered a new way of interacting with graphic novels in the context of the reading group. Equally important, a recurring theme indicated that the majority of the participants credited their involvement in the reading group discussions with having given rise to changes in the way they transacted with graphic novels. As was seen, four of the six
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participants reported spending more time looking at images, while a fifth indicated that he had begun to read comic books and graphic novels analytically in other settings, a change he attributed specifically to his involvement in the reading group discussions. In this sense, participating in the reading group, which, again, functioned as a community of comics readers, led the participants to expand their repertoire (Iser, 1978) of strategies for reading and talking about graphic novels. The observation that people learn to read and talk about graphic novels in a manner that reflects the practices of the community of comics readers to which they belong is important at a time when some literacy educators have cited a need for classroom teachers to “teach” the conventions involved in reading graphic novels (Hammond, 2009; Rudiger, 2006). While drawing attention to the conventions this form of reading material employs may prove helpful, there is a need to proceed with caution. Teaching the conventions involved in reading graphic novels potentially situates the school as the final arbiter on what it means to read them, a position that it has historically occupied in relation to traditional literature, and one that literacy educators might ask whether they wish to perpetuate. Second, such an argument is seemingly premised on an autonomous model (Street, 1984) of comics literacy in that it treats conventions as universals, and fails to acknowledge that people are likely to have developed multiple ways of reading, interpreting, and talking about graphic novels. Finally, placing the onus on educators to teach the conventions that graphic novels employ, presumably through direct instruction, ignores the important role that talk plays in leading people to appropriate the practices a community has developed for interacting with different forms of texts. As my study demonstrates, people acquire the knowledge needed to participate in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998) as they take part in that community’s practices, and as they talk with one another.
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Finding two: Conceptions of graphic novels. The latter half of the first research question asked how the participants conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material. As will be recalled, three findings emerged in response to that question. The first suggested that the participants were aware of two stigmas attached to graphic novels. One regarded them as a childish form of reading material, while the other construed those who read them as social outcasts. Second, the participants conceived of graphic novels as falling into three classes: manga, superhero graphic novels, and what I called academic graphic novels. Finally, the participants conceived of graphic novels as an accessible form of reading material that made use of written language sparingly, and that was easily consumed. Asked what knowledge one needed to read graphic novels, they cited a general ability to read. Observations they shared elsewhere in the study, however, often contradicted that position. Stigmas attached to graphic novels. Early in the study the participants identified two stigmas they associated with graphic novels. The first regarded them as a childish form of reading material that readers are expected to move beyond as they grow more adept at reading written language. A second stigma the participants identified had to do with the manner in which they assumed individuals who read graphic novels were likely to be perceived. Specifically, they assumed that graphic novel readers were regarded as social outcasts, a view they credited the media with perpetuating. Sarah, for example, cited a tendency for the media to distinguish between those who read comic books and those who read literature. In reference to the latter group, she observed that they were likely to be construed as “intellectuals” (First Whole Group Interview, 22, 965). Other research that has asked how adolescents experience comic books, graphic novels, and manga as a form of reading material indicates that young people are cognizant of stigmas similar to those I identified in my study. Norton (2003), for example, found that a
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group of elementary students who expressed an affinity for Archie comics suspected that adults were likely hold their preferred form of reading material in low esteem. Indeed, the researcher quoted one student as having suggested that adults were likely to construe Archie comics as “garbage” (p. 144). Hammond (2009), whose research project led her to ask how high school students responded to a graphic novel, also found that the participants in her study were cognizant of stigmas that detracted from their popularity. In a focus interview one student proposed that teenagers were likely to select books they “wouldn’t get laughed at for” (p. 126), while another observed that once people reach a certain age they are expected to “grow up, read books with text” (p. 126). Additionally, the participants in Hammond’s (2009) study identified a stigma that regarded those who read graphic novels as “stereotypical kids” (p. 125), a term that was used to refer to individuals who existed outside of the mainstream. Observations members of the English department shared when I interviewed them suggested that students and faculty at Hamilton High School were susceptible to similar stigmas. On separate occasions, two English teachers shared their belief that students recognized that the books they read communicated something about their intellectual lives. They consequently worried that asking students to read graphic novels in class would result in their feeling uncomfortable. When I interviewed the department chairperson, he recalled that some students rolled their eyes when he introduced Persepolis in class. The observations these teachers shared are consistent with a finding reported by Annett (2008), who identified a tendency for high-achieving academic students to resist graphic narratives, which they deemed “unworthy of serious study” (p. 166). The stigmas the participants in my study associated with graphic novels were more than abstract arguments for Barry, who had considerable experience reading them, and who
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derived considerable pleasure from doing so. Throughout the study comments he shared indicated that he was familiar with the hurt such stigmas cause, and his words occasionally betrayed an underlying sense of anger. When he composed his summative journal, Barry reflected on the ease with which his peers dismissed a form of reading material that he valued: Why should I feel ashamed when I’m at track practice, calling my pals to go to the comic book store while my teammates are around. [sic] It’s just strange how they can look at something that I find so beautiful, and spit on it without giving a second thought. (Summative Journal, pp. 6-7) On another occasion he observed that the notion that graphic novels constituted a childish form of reading material was so prevalent that younger audiences were dissuaded from reading them, a fact he found ironic. “And it's to the point now where even kids that read comics are like persecuted by other kids,” he explained. “So it's like almost like it's for no-Like people are saying it's for no one when it should really be for everyone” (Individual Interview, 16, 708-710). Noting that the prospect of reading manga might not appeal to all students, Allen and Ingulsrud (2003) caution that some students might “resent time spent on these texts in the classroom” (p. 681). My study supports that observation. To be sure, the participants with whom I worked did not harbor a negative view of graphic novels. Nevertheless, their cognizance of stigmas that are attached to them, coupled with those Barry appeared to have confronted, indirectly suggests that they may constitute obstacles that teachers interested in using graphic novels in the classroom ought to be prepared to address. Knowledge needed to read graphic novels. As will be recalled, the participants conceived of graphic novels as an accessible form of reading material that made use of written language sparingly, and that was easily consumed. When they talked about reading
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traditional literature, the participants tended to describe interacting with pages of dense printed text. Conversely, when they talked about reading comic books, graphic novels, or manga they foregrounded their ability to consume them in a short period of time. Asked whether reading a graphic novel required any particular knowledge, the participants concurred with Barry, who argued that one had only to possess a general ability to read, which was defined as decoding print text and adhering to the Western convention of reading from left-to-right, top-to-bottom. Nevertheless, comments the participants shared often contradicted that position. Barry, for example, recalled interacting with novice readers who struggled to follow the progression of panels on a page, and who were unsure how to read speech balloons. That they should struggle to make sense of what he considered “simple stuff” surprised him (Individual Interview, 19, 834). Likewise, the participants who had more experience reading graphic novels drew a distinction between reading a graphic novel on a surface level—that is, comprehending its plot and identifying the people, objects, and events images depicted—and reading a graphic novel on a deeper level with the intention of interpreting its underlying meanings. In working toward the latter end they assumed that it was necessary to draw on features such as perspective, lighting, and color. Assertions of this sort led me to conclude that the participants may have underestimated the knowledge they drew on as readers to construct meaning in their transactions with graphic novels. The aforementioned findings are consistent with findings reported by researchers who have asked how readers conceive of works written in the medium of comics. Having surveyed and interviewed 291 students who attended a small liberal arts college in southwest Japan, Allen and Ingulsrud (2003) concluded that one of the reasons their participants enjoyed reading manga was because they found doing so easy. The researchers attributed this to the format, noting that “the limited amount of text combined with many illustrations”
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appeared to make manga “more accessible than the solid text of books” (p. 678). Nevertheless, they foregrounded a series of conventions manga employs, and argued that manga readers “underestimate the skills required to access the text” (p. 678). A number of scholars have drawn attention to the demands multimodal texts place on readers. Hassett and Schieble (2007), for instance, observe that texts that employ multiple sign systems compel readers “to negotiate multiple levels of meaning while constructing connections within and across various textual elements” (p. 67). Likewise, Eisner (1996) argues that “there is a different cognitive process between reading words and pictures” (p. 59), an observation that is echoed by Schwarz (2002) and Chute (2008). That the participants in my study, who were found to have drawn on their knowledge of grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) associated with a number of semiotic resources, assumed that one had only to possess a general ability to read in order to interact with graphic novels supports Allen and Ingulsrud’s (2003) observation that readers may underestimate the knowledge they draw on in their transactions with works written in the medium of comics. Research Question Two As will be recalled, the second research question that framed my case study asked, “What semiotic resources do high school students draw on as they read graphic novels, and in what ways do they work with them?” The data set that I drew on to answer that question included response journals the participants maintained as they read each of the four graphic novels, transcripts of their semi-structured individual interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994), and transcripts of the four reading group discussions. Consistent with Jacobs’ (2007) argument, the participants were found to have drawn on a range of semiotic resources to construct meaning in their transactions with the graphic novels they read. Readers will recall that I
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organized those resources using categories established by the New London Group (1996). In the section to follow, I synthesize my findings. Having done so, I discuss their relevance. Finding one: Visual design. A recurring theme in the data suggested that the participants drew on a graphic novel’s visual design as a resource for making meaning. In addition to constructing symbolic interpretations of images, they made use of perspective, and were sensitive to recurring visual patterns. Indeed, they used disruptions to visual patterns as a resource for constructing what they identified as themes in a narrative. Mimetic forms (Eisner, 2002)—that is forms that look like that which they are intended to represent in the world outside a text—constituted another meaning-making resource the participants drew on in the visual design of graphic novels. By synthesizing different mimetic forms, they were able to construct an understanding of the setting in which a story took place, and make evaluative judgments about characters to whom they were introduced. Finally, the participants drew on facial expressions as a resource for making meaning. Specifically, they used facial expressions to discern characters’ affective states, and to interpret the subjective positions they occupied. Recent research suggests that readers in other settings may interact with the visual design of graphic novels in a similar manner. Having used think-aloud protocols to understand how nine adults read graphic novels, Romanelli (2009) concluded that, amongst other things, her participants scanned a page for image and text clues which they used “to establish setting, mood, character relationships, and in some cases significance of text or image” (p. 174). In doing so they appeared to engage in a practice similar to one the participants in my study engaged in as they synthesized mimetic forms to locate the setting of a story and make evaluative judgments about characters. Likewise, Hammond (2009) found that students who took part in a research project she conducted for her dissertation responded
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to facial expressions in images. Specifically, she argued that they “were able to read characters’ emotions from the images” (p. 102) in much the same way the participants in my study did. Finding two: Color design. As will be recalled, the participants drew on an available color design to interpret the graphic novels they read. In some cases doing so led them to treat color as what Eisner (2002) calls an expressive mode—that is, one that artists use to convey information pertaining to emotion or feeling. The participants drew on color to construct a sense of atmosphere in a narrative, and to respond to tactile sensations they imagined characters experienced. They also treated color as a conventional sign, a third mode Eisner (2002) suggests artists use to convey meaning. Doing so led them to acknowledge socially agreed upon meanings that are associated with different colors, so that black was understood to connote evil, while the color blue was equated with sorrow or sadness. In treating color as a sign, the participants made use of cultural knowledge. As Sipe (2008) observes, “Much, if not all of our associations with color are culturally bound; in other words, the same color can have a different meaning for different cultures” (p. 19). Recognition of this point reinforces an argument I made earlier when I discussed the findings for the first research question, and suggested that readers appropriate the interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) they bring to bear on graphic novels from the communities of comics readers to which they belong. The conventions that graphic novels employ are not universal. Rather, they are subject to negotiation by different social and cultural groups, a point those who cite a need to teach conventions (Hammond, 2009; Rudiger, 2006) potentially overlook. Finding three: Audio design. As demonstrated in chapter four, a recurring theme in the data suggested that the participants made use of an available audio design in their
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transactions with the graphic novels they read. Doing so led them to acknowledge variations in the visual treatment afforded written language, as well as the spatial arrangement of speech balloons and narrative boxes. Discussing similar conventions available in the audio design of picturebooks, Schwarcz (1982) argues that the “illustrator’s intention is that these visual configurations be transformed again by the viewer into acoustic impressions or associations” (p. 77). Drawing on an available audio design led Hal and Saki to refer to the presence of “visual sounds” that enabled them to “hear” dialogue in an otherwise silent medium. Likewise, Hermione and several others interpreted speech balloons that were superimposed on one another as a sign of one character having talked over another. As explained in chapter four, the concept of experiential meaning potential (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001), which is premised on an assumption that material signifiers attain meaning in part because people are able to extend their experiences metaphorically, provides a useful framework for understanding how the participants drew on an available audio design to construct meaning in their transactions with the graphic novels they read. Finding four: Spatial design. Data analysis indicated that the participants drew on an available spatial design as a resource for constructing meaning in the graphic novels they read. In doing so they imbued compositional arrangements with meaning, the result of which meant that it was possible for them to interpret characters that were situated at opposite ends of a panel as having been separated by emotional distance. Likewise, variations in the size of panels an artist used to frame images in a narrative were regarded as a meaning-making resource that was available to readers. Thus, one participant interpreted a series of small panels as a rhetorical strategy that was designed to impose the feelings of entrapment characters in a narrative experienced on readers, while another construed a large panel that
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comprised an entire page as conveying a sense of freedom. The physical layout of panels constituted an additional aspect of the spatial design on which the participants drew. Of the various semiotic resources the participants were found to have drawn on in their transactions with the graphic novels they read, an available spatial design was most likely to be referenced when the reading group met to talk about Laika. Several factors potentially account for this. First, as was explained in chapter three when I discussed the criteria I used to select the graphic novels the group read, panel sizes and page layouts were manipulated in Laika to an extent that surpassed the other graphic novels the group read. As such, the graphic novel may have drawn the participants’ attention to issues of composition— and hence to its spatial design—in a manner that surpassed the other texts. It is also possible that the participants were less sensitive to the presence of an available spatial design in the graphic novels they read. Of the six individuals who participated in the study, Hal, who had the most experience reading graphic novels, was most likely to refer to issues pertaining to composition and layout, both in his response journal and in the reading group discussions. That he had taken several art classes likely heightened his sensitivity to this particular resource. Although it is only speculation on my part, it is possible that the observations Hal shared regarding issues of space in the context of the reading group discussions directed the participants’ attention to that resource, the result of which meant that they were more likely to acknowledge and comment on it in the later stages of the study. Finding five: Linguistic design. Though references to it were not as explicit as they were to the other resources, the participants drew on an available linguistic design in the graphic novels they read as a resource for constructing meaning. As will be recalled, a recurring theme indicated that the participants assigned meanings to words that extended
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beyond the referents to which they pointed in a narrative. In doing so they moved beyond reading for comprehension to interpret what they recognized as underlying themes and meanings. As explained in chapter four, Rosenblatt’s (1978) theory of aesthetic reading, which is premised on an assumption that readers acknowledge the personal meanings written language calls forth, provides a useful framework for understanding how the participants interacted with the linguistic design of the graphic novels they read, as does Iser’s (1978) theory of aesthetic reading, which construes readers as filling gaps in a narrative, one of which is understood to exist between significance and meaning. According to Walsh (2006), “An important aspect of reading multimodal texts is the ability to integrate information from the different modes” (p. 34). In drawing on the aforementioned semiotic resources as they read the graphic novels, the participants demonstrated an ability to synthesize the meanings they communicated. In doing so they constructed interpretations that surpassed the meanings any one resource alone conveyed. Lewis (1996) uses the term “polysystemy” to refer to this “piecing together of text out of different kinds of signifying systems” (p. 108). In this sense the participants were found to have been active as they read the graphic novels, an observation that belies traditional arguments that regard works written in the medium of comics as failing to engage readers (Hajdu, 2008; Nyberg, 1998), and one that is supported by other research (Romanelli, 2009). Despite the interest literacy educators have taken in graphic novels, relatively few applied studies have asked how high school students read and experience them as a form of multimodal literature. When researchers have taken that question up, they have done so using categories of response similar to those derived from research that asked how students respond to literature as it is traditionally conceived. Martin’s (1992) efforts to understand how students responded to Classic Illustrated comic books, for example, led him to propose
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that works written in the medium of comics were likely “to produce responses similar in nature to those resulting from students’ reading of other kinds of texts, such as short stories and plays” (p. 185). Likewise, having asked how high school seniors responded to a graphic novel, Hammond (2009) concluded that “students have similar responses to literature regardless of the format” (p. 145). At the level of narrative, it is perhaps not surprising to discover that students respond to graphic novels in a manner similar to the way they do traditional literature. Still, concentrating on categories of response that are similar to those derived from studies that ask how students respond to traditional literature has the potential to obscure our vision of that which makes reading graphic novels unique—namely, the demand they place on readers to navigate multiple sign systems, and integrate the respective meanings they convey in order to construct an interpretation. By choosing to regard reading as a semiotic activity in which readers, guided by the framework of a text, imbue its signs with meaning (Iser, 1978; Rosenblatt, 1978), it is possible to appreciate the sophisticated nature of the processes in which they engage, as well as the considerable body of knowledge they draw on. Seen in this light, graphic novels no longer appear to constitute an unsophisticated form of reading material that is best used to lead students to transact with more traditional (and presumably more valuable) literature. Quite the opposite, they emerge as a complex constellation of signs that require readers to draw on their knowledge of grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) that are associated with a range of semiotic resources. Scholars interested in understanding how works written in the medium of comics come to mean often point to the relationship between word and image. Harvey (1996), for example, refers to what he calls “visual-verbal blending,” which conceives of word and image as existing in a state of mutual dependence, and which regards them as conveying
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meanings that “neither the verbal nor the visual can achieve alone without the other” (p. 4). As Chute (2008) rightly observes, however, such a view ignores the important role that readers play in synthesizing the two sign systems. By drawing attention to the host of semiotic resources on which the participants drew to interpret the texts they read, my study underscores the active role readers adopt in their transactions with graphic novels. Research Question Three The third research question my study addressed asked, “How do high school students talk about graphic novels in the context of an after-school reading group?” Analysis of the four reading group discussion transcripts, individual interview transcripts, final whole group interview transcript, and summative journals the participants composed at the conclusion of the study suggested that they regarded the reading group discussions as having been characterized by an analytic focus. Inductive analysis of the four discussion transcripts supported that observation, as the participants were found to have analyzed the composition and design of images, as well as themes in the narratives they read, and the role textual structures played in eliciting their aesthetic responses (Rosenblatt, 1938/1995, 1978). Finding one: Analytic focus of discussions. As will be recalled, self-reports that were provided by the participants who had more experience reading works written in the medium of comics indicated that the focus of the conversations they had about graphic novels in other settings was influenced by a range of objectives. For Hal, talking with his father and Barry about comic books and graphic novels presented opportunities to construct and maintain friendships. Likewise, talking about manga with students who participated in a manga/anime club allowed Saki to network with individuals who shared an affinity for a form of reading material that he valued. When he talked about manga with his sister and a friend who shared his interest in literature and writing, on the other hand, he indicated that
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they were likely to focus on issues similar to those they might address if they were to talk about a traditional novel. A recurring theme in the data suggested that the participants regarded the discussions they had about graphic novels in the context of the reading group as having been characterized by an analytic focus. Specifically, they assumed that they were concerned with examining underlying themes and meanings, and with exploring the role literary and artistic devices played in developing them. In terms of their focus, the participants understood the reading group discussions to have resembled the conversations they had about literature in their respective English classes. Those who talked about graphic novels in other settings suggested that they were unaccustomed to talking about graphic novels in such a manner. Inductive analysis of the four discussion transcripts supported the observation that the reading group discussions were characterized by an analytic focus. As will be recalled, the participants were found to have analyzed images from the standpoint of design and composition. In doing so they reflected on the functions individual images served in relation to the larger narrative, and evaluated the decisions and stylistic choices artists made. The participants also analyzed themes they encountered in the graphic novels they read, as well as the role textual structures played in fostering their aesthetic responses (Rosenblatt, 1938/1995, 1978). That the reading group discussions were characterized by an analytic focus is perhaps not surprising. Citing research on classroom discourse, Applebee and his colleagues (2003) observe that the “ground rules” for literature discussions often require “textual analysis to support arguments and opinions” (p. 692). As the person who sponsored the reading group, and who assumed responsibility for facilitating the discussions, I was in a position to influence the shape they assumed. That I drew on my fifteen years experience leading
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discussions about literature in high school and university classrooms to facilitate the discussions likely gave them an analytic focus. At the same time, however, given that I was a stranger to the participants, one might assume that the initial discussions constituted a sort of “feeling-out” process in which the members of the group, myself included, negotiated the direction subsequent discussions might follow. In a study that sought to understand how high school students talked about literature in small-group discussions, Marshall and his colleagues (1995) observed that “the kinds of talk engaged in by teachers in whole-class discussions does influence the ways in which students talk about literature in small groups” (p. 65). Having observed that I intended to talk about the graphic novels in an analytic manner, it is possible that the participants adopted what they recognized as the appropriate speech genre (Bakhtin, 1986) for the setting. In this case, it was one that resembled school discourse in that it privileged analysis. It is also possible that the setting in which the reading group met contributed to the analytic focus the discussions assumed. Outlining their theory of a social semiotics, Hodge and Kress (1988) argue, “Settings exert a coercive force on the meanings that can be produced or received within them” (p. 68). Although the reading group met after school hours, it gathered in a school setting. As such, the study unfolded in what Nichols (2008) refers to as an “of-school space” (p. 132). As an incentive to take part in the study, the participants were also eligible to earn school credit, a point that was addressed in chapter three. Cumulatively, these factors may have framed the reading group as a school-sanctioned activity, the result of which led the participants to adopt what they regarded as a speech genre (Bakhtin, 1986) that was appropriate to the setting. Again, it was one that privileged analytic talk.
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Thus far I have focused on the role issues pertaining to context potentially played in lending the discussions an analytic focus. However, there is another explanation that warrants consideration. Reviewing research on children’s response to picturebooks, Sipe (2008) cites a finding from a study conducted by Belfatti (2005), who observed that while first- and second-graders initially responded to a picturebook that was read to them by making predictions and personal connections, they were more likely to analyze its visual aspects—specifically, its use of perspective—as they were given opportunities to respond to it on subsequent occasions (p. 29). While it is only speculation on my behalf, it is possible that a similar phenomenon occurred in the reading group. Prior to attending the reading group meetings the participants had the opportunity to read a graphic novel in its entirety. Additionally, they recorded their responses to it in journals they maintained. As such, they were given the opportunity to respond affectively to the graphic novels they read prior to taking part in the reading group discussions, an opportunity that does not necessarily exist for students in a classroom. As such, it is possible that the participants were prepared to analyze the graphic novels when they arrived to the reading group meetings regardless of any prompting on my behalf. Although several of the participants noted that they were unaccustomed to talking about graphic novels analytically, a recurring theme in the data indicated that they enjoyed the opportunity to do so. In particular, they appreciated the opportunity to talk critically about images, and when they composed their summative journals at the conclusion of the study, several of them unexpectedly cited a need for teachers to address visual analysis in school. Saki, for example, wrote, “In-depth analysis of how visual layout reveals characters’ thoughts and personalities seems unprecedented for the average high school student” (Summative Journal, p. 3). Sarah shared a similar observation, explaining, “Since my
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generation is so visual, I think discussing art work is something that should happen more in schools, in the classroom” (Summative Journal, p. 3). Given the preponderance of multimodal texts students encounter outside of school, creating opportunities for them to interrogate their visual design and establish themselves as active, rather than passive, consumers of images may prove pedagogically productive. My study also indicates that students may enjoy the opportunity to engage in this kind of analysis. Creating opportunities for students to read and talk about graphic novels in an analytic manner also honors intelligences (Gardner, 1983) that have not traditionally been acknowledged (or valued) in English language arts classrooms. At the start of this project Hal attested to the frustration he experienced reading pages of dense written text for school. When I asked the participants at the first meeting whether they would be interested in studying a graphic novel in an English class, Hal shared his belief that he “could discuss more about it than he could a novel” (First Whole Group Interview, 30, 1368-1369). In the weeks and months that followed he proved remarkably adept at reading the visual design of graphic novels. Reflecting on his experiences in the reading group at the conclusion of the study he wrote, “I found it easier to discuss the material because I am a very visual person and comic books are a visual media and with my experiences [sic] in art classes and reading comics I felt that I could see deeper into these books and share more worthwhile information” (Summative Journal, p. 3). It is important that teachers create opportunities for students to construe themselves as contributing “worthwhile information” in class. Allowing them to exercise their strengths as learners, visual or otherwise, constitutes one way of working toward this end. Because it threatens to invert the expert-novice paradigm, the prospect of talking analytically with students about graphic novels—particularly their visual aspects—may prove
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unsettling to some English language arts educators. Indeed, teachers in a case study that Annett (2008) conducted reported knowing colleagues who were uncomfortable with the prospect of using graphic novels because they lacked a language for talking about them. At least one of the teachers that I interviewed at Hamilton High School informed me that she was reluctant to use graphic novels in the classroom for a similar reason. Specifically, she regarded herself as lacking “the background knowledge needed to think and talk critically about [them]” (Field Notes – 1/27/09). Rather than feel uncomfortable, teachers ought to embrace these moments, not least because they create opportunities for students to regard themselves as experts, a role they may not be accustomed to occupying in the classroom. To conclude this discussion, I wish to share an anecdote that stems from my experiences talking with Hal and Barry about superhero comics. Early in my study I discovered that Barry and Hal enjoyed lingering after the reading group meetings to talk with me about comic books and graphic novels. On several occasions they recommended titles they thought I might enjoy, and, given my desire to familiarize myself with their reading practices, I followed their advice. As explained in chapter four, Barry and Hal expressed a particular affinity for the superhero genre. Although I had some experience reading superhero comic books, I did not do so with anywhere near the frequency they did, and talking with them led me to appreciate just how little I actually knew about the genre. When I failed to recognize particular characters, Hal and Barry were quick to instruct me on their history. When I overlooked subtle allusions to other storylines, they drew the necessary connections for me. Initially, my inability to hold my own in these conversations resulted in my feeling anxious, as if a lifetime spent reading comics, not to mention several years studying the medium in graduate school, had taught me nothing. Midway through the study I visited my local comic book shop and, as is often the
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case, I struck up a conversation with the sales staff about new releases. At one point in the conversation we began talking about superhero comic books, and though I clearly lacked my fellow conversant’s knowledge about the subject, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I was able hold my own in the conversation. Indeed, there were occasions when I found myself referencing characters and storylines to which Barry and Hal had introduced me. Reflecting on my experience led me to understand that Barry and Hal had introduced me to a new way of reading and talking about graphic novels. In doing so, they had adopted the role of expert, which in turn situated me as novice. As a result of talking with them, I sensed that my repertoire (Iser, 1978) of strategies for reading and talking about graphic novels had expanded, making it possible for me to talk about them in ways with which I was not previously accustomed. This sort of relationship, which acknowledges all members of a class—and not just the teacher—as potential experts, is one toward which literacy educators ought to work. As one of the teachers in Annett’s (2008) study aptly observed, it is not necessary for teachers to be experts in everything they do inside their classrooms (p. 169). Research Question Four The fourth, and final, research question asked, “To what extent, if at all, do high school students’ conceptions of graphic novels change as they are given opportunities to read and talk about them in the context of a voluntary after-school reading group?” To answer that question I drew on transcripts of semi-structured individual interviews (Fontana & Frey, 1994), responses to open-ended questions that were posed at the conclusion of the four reading group discussions, a transcript of the final whole group interview, and summative journals the participants composed at the conclusion of the study. As will be recalled, three themes emerged during data analysis. First, the participants who had less experience reading graphic novels were found to have expressed surprise at their depth, while those who had
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more experience reading them suggested that participating in the reading group confirmed their view of comic books and graphic novels as a substantive form of reading material. Second, self-reports the participants provided indicated that they credited their involvement in the reading group discussions with having brought about changes in the way they interacted with graphic novels. Finally, as was the case at the start of the study, the participants argued that one had only to possess a general ability to read in order to read graphic novels. Observations they shared in the final whole group interview contradicted that position, however. These findings are synthesized and discussed in the sections to follow. Finding one: Substantive form of reading material. As explained in chapter four, the participants who had less experience reading graphic novels, or who only read manga, were surprised to discover that the graphic novels they encountered in the reading group addressed a range of complex themes and issues. Having read one graphic novel prior to participating in the study, Sarah assumed that it was unusual for graphic novels to address substantive subject matter. However, self-reports she provided later in the study indicated that reading and talking about one of the assigned graphic novels, Pride of Baghdad, led her to question her definition of freedom and rethink her worldviews. Asked what she might tell teachers who were interested in using graphic novels in the classroom, Sarah pointed to their ability to inspire thought and sustain intelligent discussion. Bill, who construed manga as “brain candy” at the start of the study, shared a similar observation, and credited participating in the reading group with having led him to recognize that graphic novels were capable of engaging him intellectually in much the same way traditional literature did. When he completed his reading interest survey at the beginning of the study, Saki shared his belief that works written in the medium of comics had the potential to be literary. He tempered his claim, however, by observing that this was most likely to prove true of
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manga. He associated Western graphic novels, which he lacked experience reading, with the superhero genre. At the conclusion of the study, however, Saki credited his involvement in the reading group with having led him to recognize that Western graphic novels addressed storylines beyond those that dealt with superheroes, and he noted that he was “pleasantly surprised at the sort of content contained in these books” (Summative Journal, p. 4). Hermione constituted an instance of disconfirming evidence so far as this finding is concerned. Asked at the study’s midway point whether participating in the reading group influenced her conception of graphic novels to any extent she indicated that it had not. Specifically, she explained that she had entered the study with an open mind, and had believed that graphic novels were capable of addressing serious issues. Nevertheless, in the summative journal she submitted at the conclusion of the study she observed that the pervasiveness of complex issues and themes addressed in the graphic novels she read left her “mildly surprised,” an observation that seemed to suggest they surpassed her expectations to some extent. As will be recalled, the participants who had more experience reading graphic novels, and who appeared to have been situated as members of what I called a community of comics readers, reported that participating in the reading group confirmed their view of graphic novels as a substantive form of reading material. During the final whole group interview Hal and Barry identified titles of comic books and graphic novels that fell into the superhero genre and addressed socially and culturally relevant issues much as they had when the group first met. Barry attested to the frustration he felt when people assumed that graphic novels had only recently begun to address serious subject matter. To counter that assertion, he drew on his familiarity with the form’s history, and highlighted changes in the type of content comic books and graphic novels addressed in the decades that followed the 1970s.
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That the participants who lacked experience reading Western graphic novels were skeptical of their substance is consistent with observations that scholars who have observed students interacting with comic books and graphic novels in classroom contexts have shared. Versaci (2001), for example, reported that community college students in a literature course he taught were “unaware that comics could and did address mature subject matter” (p. 62). Having asked how six high school teachers used graphic novels in a classroom context, Annett (2008) found that his informants “often observed students’ reluctance at the beginning of their lessons to take these materials seriously and felt a strong need to legitimize the genre as worthy of study” (p. 170). With time, however, the teachers found that students were “engaged with the materials, often more so than with traditional texts” (p. 169). There is reason to believe that teachers who are interested in using graphic novels with students in the upper grades might expect to encounter some degree of resistance upon introducing this particular form of reading material in a classroom setting. Having interviewed a focus group comprised of high school students who participated in her study, Hammond (2009) found that they were aware of stigmas that detracted from the popularity of graphic novels. A similar finding emerged in my study, as the participants were found to have been aware of stigmas that construe graphic novels as a childish form of reading material, and that regard those who read them as social misfits. Although all of the participants evinced an interest in reading graphic novels, those who lacked experience with the form (with the exception of Hermione) conceded that they were initially skeptical of its substance. To date, few applied studies have asked how students respond to graphic novels when they encounter them in a classroom setting. Likewise, the question of how teachers might address student resistance to graphic novels has received little attention. In his study, Annett
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(2008) observed that teachers who were concerned that high-achieving students might resist graphic novels recognized a need to legitimize them by introducing articles and reviews that extolled their merit. Hammond (2009), on the other hand, found that after reading one graphic novel, the participants in her study expressed an interest in reading others. She cautioned, however, that this might not have been the case had they been asked to read superhero graphic novels or manga. Although my study was not situated in a classroom, the finding discussed in this section supports Hammond’s (2009) observation that creating opportunities for students to read graphic novels may motivate them to revisit and modify their expectations of them as a form of reading material. At the same time, simply inviting students to read graphic novels may not prove sufficient. My study contributes to the literature on graphic novel reading in that it foregrounds a benefit for literacy educators who create opportunities for students to share their responses to graphic novels with other readers in the context of discussions. Simply put, allowing students to talk about graphic novels, and to encounter other readers’ responses, may lead them to recognize merit in graphic novels they might not have expected to find. Participating in conversations of this sort may lead teachers who lack experience with the form, and who question its worth, to reach a similar discovery. Rather than submit blindly to institutionally imposed definitions of literature, Versaci (2001) encourages educators to create opportunities for students to interact with a variety of texts in school, including works written in the medium of comics. Specifically, he advocates encouraging students to develop their own criteria for assessing literary merit, and he argues that doing so may help them appreciate the problems that are involved in making “assumptions based on the appearance or popular conception of certain works and genres too quickly” (p. 66). My study supports that observation in that it suggests that creating
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opportunities for students who are unfamiliar with graphic novels to talk about them with other readers may lead them to rethink their literary merit. In doing so they may discover what the more experienced comics readers in my study knew—namely, that graphic novels, like any other form of text, have the potential to constitute a sophisticated and thoughtful form of reading material. Finding two: Changed interactions with graphic novels. A second finding that emerged in response to the fourth research question indicated that the manner in which the participants interacted with the assigned graphic novels underwent a qualitative change as a result of their participating in the reading group discussions. As will be recalled, four of the six participants reported spending more time looking at images, and they credited their involvement in the reading group discussions with having brought about that end. Specifically, they suggested that when other members of the group observed aspects of images they failed to recognize, or when they interpreted them in ways that had not occurred to them, they were motivated to spend more time looking at images they encountered in subsequent graphic novels they read. Although neither Barry nor Hal reported spending more time looking at images as a result of participating in the study, they did indicate that they were unaccustomed to reading and talking about graphic novels in a critical analytic manner. Moreover, they reported having enjoyed the opportunity to do so. A self-report Barry provided at the conclusion of the study suggested that participating in the reading group discussions led him to adopt an analytic focus when he read comic books and graphic novels for pleasure in other settings. Having finished reading a comic book at home, he recalled questioning its meaning, a practice with which he was unaccustomed, and one that failed to appeal to him in school. He consequently credited his involvement in the reading group discussions with having
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accomplished something “twelve years of school couldn't get me do, which is actually in my own personal life think about what I just read rather than just reading it and enjoying kind of what I read” (Final Whole Group Interview, 9, 376-381). It is tempting to view Barry’s remarks as evidence of his having internalized (Vygotsky, 1978) a new strategy for reading graphic novels, thereby broadening his repertoire (Iser, 1978) for doing so. Whether he continued to read graphic novels in a critical analytic manner in the weeks that followed, however, is uncertain, rendering any such claim speculative at best. Having analyzed responses to question prompts that students composed after they read a graphic novel, Hammond (2009) observed that they seldom referred to comics-related conventions. She consequently taught a lesson in which she addressed the history of comics, as well conventions the medium employs. When the students read the same graphic novel a second time, she found that they cited conventions more frequently. Additionally, Hammond (2009) identified changes in the way the participants in her study read the graphic novel when they were asked to revisit it a second time. “Because they were more aware of the importance of images in graphic novels,” she wrote, “they gave them more attention and gleaned more information from them (p. 168). Recognition of this point led her to argue for the importance of teaching the conventions that comics employ. The sort of explicit instruction for which Hammond (2009) argues may constitute one way of leading students to read images more closely. It is not, however, the only method for doing so. Indeed, my study suggests that creating opportunities for students to share their responses to graphic novels with other readers in the context of discussions that are guided, but not dominated, by a teacher may prove equally effective in leading them to rethink the manner in which they interact with them. A growing number of researchers have come to appreciate the importance of
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creating opportunities for students to engage in authentic discussions about literary texts. Nystrand and his colleagues (1997), for example, found that allowing students to exchange their ideas in dialogic discussions that offer them control over the topics that are taken up fosters deeper understanding of literary texts. Other research echoes that finding (Applebee et al., 2003; Eeds & Wells, 1989; Soter et al., 2008). Recent scholarship suggests that creating opportunities for students to talk about their responses to multimodal texts is equally important. Having reviewed research that asked how children respond to multimodal texts, Arizpe and Styles (2008) observed that discussion supported their ability “to make more connections and arrive at better understandings of the texts in question” (p. 369). My study contributes to the literature on multimodal reading in that it suggests that inviting students to share their responses to graphic novels with other readers in the context of discussions may give rise to changes in the way they interact with them, an assertion that is consistent with the sociocultural theories of learning that informed my study (Lave & Wenger, 1991). Finding three: Knowledge needed to read graphic novels. One way in which the participants’ conceptions of graphic novels as a form of reading material did not appear to change had to do with their understanding of the knowledge they drew on to read them. Asked during the first whole group interview whether they thought the ability to read a graphic novel entailed any specific knowledge, the participants cited a general ability to read, by which they meant an ability to decode written text and adhere to the Western convention of reading from left-to-right, top-to-bottom. As will be recalled, however, observations they shared elsewhere in the study contradicted that position. Those participants who had more experience reading graphic novels—or, in Saki’s case, manga—drew a distinction between reading them on a surface level and comprehending issues pertaining to plot, and reading
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them on a deeper level. Recognition of the latter point begs the question, what knowledge do readers draw on to read a graphic novel on a deeper level? When the participants met for the final whole group interview I asked them that question. As was the case at the start of the study, they once again argued that one had only to possess a general ability to read in order to read a graphic novel. Observations they shared immediately after, however, contradicted that assertion. Barry recalled having struggled to navigate multiple speech balloons in a single panel when he began reading comic books as a child, an experience that was echoed by several other participants. Moreover, Saki observed that there is “a certain technique in knowing how to read those comics that makes it tricky” (Final Whole Group Interview, 31, 1433-1440). Having surveyed 297 college students in Japan about their experiences reading manga, Allen and Ingulsrud (2003) concluded that one of the primary reasons manga proved popular with their informants was that “they are easy to read” (p. 678). Nevertheless, the researchers cautioned that a “reading activity can be easy when readers are skilled in reading particular texts” (p. 678). They subsequently argued that manga readers “themselves underestimate the skills required to access the text” (p. 678). Given the host of semiotic resources the participants in my study made use of to construct meaning in their transactions with the graphic novels they read, it would appear that they also underestimated the scope of the knowledge they drew on as readers. That the participants failed to appreciate the knowledge they drew as they read the graphic novels is potentially attributable to the manner in which they understood themselves to have interacted with images. Asked during the final whole group interview whether one read images, the participants generally agreed that it was possible to do so. At the same time, however, they drew a distinction between the processes involved in reading images, and
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those involved in reading written text. Whereas they were cognizant of a need for readers to decode written language, they assumed that one had only to look at an image in order to grasp its meaning. Addressing this point Barry explained, “Like if you see something you kind of know what it is, but if you read something you have to interpret like the language” (Final Whole Group Interview, 16, 701-707). Saki shared a similar observation later in the final whole group interview when he acknowledged a distinction between the demands word and image place on readers. He explained: Um-- For, for certain, uh, going along with what Hal said, uh, for certain looking at an image is more natural to people than reading a sentence and thinking about, “Okay, that means this.” When you read something and you try to think about what does this mean you construct an image of what's being described in your head and if you give two different people the same piece of, uh, text from a novel or something they'll probably come up with two different, uh, but, but, but both, uh, possibly applicable pictures of what's being described there. Whereas with a graphic novel or piece of art you look at it, it's there, that's what it looks like. There's no room for inter-- a different interpretation of the image. (Final Whole Group Interview, 17, 760-768) It is possible to problematize Saki’s observation that images lack room for interpretation by citing a finding that was analyzed in chapter four, and which suggested that the participants treated images as open symbols, interpreting them in ways that were often idiosyncratic. Lewis (1996) observes that the speed with which images are understood has the potential to create the impression that they are transparent. If, however, one acknowledges that images constitute a signifying system, it follows that the meanings they convey are never unmediated. In designing visual texts, artists, like writers, draw on grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) that are available to them in the larger culture. In doing so the choices they make—e.g., compositional arrangements, type of media used, color palette—are suggestive of the meanings they wish to convey. As Lewis (1996) observes, artists rely on their audiences “being familiar with the appropriate forms of notation just as much as writers do”
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(p. 108). In this sense semiotic activity is not limited to the outward production of texts. Rather, as Kress and Van Leeuwen (2001) argue, interpretation constitutes an act of semiosis as well, albeit one in which the discourse produced is inward and not perceivable. Reconceptualizing interpretation as a form of semiotic activity in which readers draw on available semiotic resources and engage in processes of design similar to those described by the New London Group (1996) has profound implications so far as the definition of literacy is concerned. Adopting such a view liberates literacy from its narrow association with written language, making it possible to extend the word so that it encompasses one’s transactions with a host of other signifying systems, a point that is captured by the New London Group’s (1996) notion of multiliteracies. As Eisner (1994), arguing for an equally expansive definition of literacy, explains, “Literacy, as I use the term, is the ability to encode or decode meaning in any of the forms of representation used in the culture to convey or express meaning” (p. x). When literacy is conceptualized as a form of semiotic activity, it is possible to appreciate the otherwise considerable body of knowledge that readers draw on to construct meaning in their transactions with graphic novels. Recognizing that a linguistic design constitutes one of many possible designs that are available to readers in graphic novels, the suggestion that one has only to possess an ability to decode print text to transact with them appears dubious. As was seen in this study, the participants drew on their knowledge of grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) that are associated with a range of semiotic resources in order to interpret visual designs, color designs, audio designs, and spatial designs. Moreover, they demonstrated an ability to synthesize the meanings individual semiotic resources conveyed in order to construct larger interpretations, a practice that Lewis (1996) refers to as polysystemy. Recognizing this, it would seem that teachers ought to help
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students make visible the processes in which they engage as they read graphic novels so that they might better appreciate and understand them. Given the preponderance of multimodal texts students encounter in the world outside of school, many of which are designed to persuade them, doing so may help them foreground the rhetorical strategies those texts employ, and lead them to think critically about the manner in which they read—and are influenced by—them. Limitations of the Study All research is subject to limitations, and this project is no exception. Although I undertook a case study with the intention of understanding how a group of high school students conceived of graphic novels as a form of reading material, and although I sought to map the repertoire of semiotic resources they drew on as readers, the narrowness of my sample population prohibits my ability to draw generalizations. As Stake (2003) observes, “Single or a few cases are poor representation of a population of cases and questionable grounds for advancing good generalization” (p. 156). The findings that I have discussed are subsequently understood to represent the experiences of six individuals who volunteered to participate in an after-school reading group. Nevertheless, I hope that the descriptions I have offered are sufficiently thick (Geertz, 1973) to allow readers to transfer the findings to other settings, and assess their applicability to readers in other contexts. Although my case study made use of methods that are associated with naturalistic inquiry, it was hardly situated in a “natural” setting. That is, the participants were neither members of a reading group that existed prior to the start of the study, nor responsible for having initiated the decision to come together as a group in order to talk about graphic novels. Rather, they were volunteers who agreed to participate in a research project that sought to understand how high school students read, talked about, and experienced graphic
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novels. How they might have talked about graphic novels in others contexts, let alone in the absence of an adult observer, is subject to speculation. It will be recalled that I agreed to make the reading group available as an independent study for which students could earn school credit, a result of my desire to offer a sufficiently strong incentive that would entice students who faced a heavy homework load to participate in a reading group that met after school hours and entailed a substantial time investment. This arrangement did not require me to assess or evaluate the participants in any way, and I did not regard it as presenting a conflict of interests. Nevertheless, it likely framed the reading group as a school sanctioned event. That the reading group met in a school setting, albeit after school hours, further compounded this. As such, I am unsure how the participants might have talked about graphic novels amongst friends in an out-of-school context, though I suspect that I would have observed qualitative differences. Another limitation of my study pertains to my inability to compare the manner in which individuals with more and less experience reading graphic novels read and interpreted them. As will be recalled, I undertook this study with the intention of mapping the repertoire of semiotic resources on which the group, as opposed to individuals, drew. While a decision to use response journals was adequate so far as my ability to work toward that end was concerned, it did not allow me to determine whether individual readers drew on some semiotic resources more frequently than others, or whether they interacted with them in ways that were qualitatively different. To address these issues, future research might make use of think-aloud protocols similar to those employed by Romanelli (2009) and earlier literary scholars (Earthman, 1992; Langer, 1995), as doing so may provide a richer portrait of the activities in which individual readers engage as they transact with graphic novels.
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Additionally, it should be noted that my discussion of the semiotic resources on which the participants drew as they read the assigned graphic novels is based on recurring themes that emerged during data analysis. A second coder did not validate these findings, and, as explained above, I am unable to report the frequency with which the participants drew on individual semiotic resources. As discussed in chapter three, my intention in conducting this study was to map the repertoire of resources on which the members of the reading group drew as they read the graphic novels, and in doing so describe the manner in which they interacted with them. Future research might use the categories that I identified to construct a coding scheme that can be applied to think-aloud protocols for use with individual readers. That the students who participated in my study were highly skilled readers constitutes another limitation. They reported reading for pleasure on a regular basis, and it was not unusual for them to talk about books they enjoyed. Whether students who struggle with reading, or who are less enthusiastic about the practice, are likely to read and talk about graphic novels in a similar manner is uncertain. Likewise, one might wonder how less skilled readers would interact with the semiotic resources available to them in graphic novels. The participants in my study were also homogenous in that they were European American and lived in an affluent community. How readers from other socio-economic and cultural backgrounds might read and talk about graphic novels consequently warrants attention. An additional limitation of my study has to do with my inability to comment on the manner in which the participants read and responded to the literature they encountered in their respective English classes. Although they cited differences between the structure of the discussions they had about literature in school and those they had about graphic novels in the context of the reading group, time constraints prohibited my ability to observe their
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classroom discussions. How their experiences in the latter setting might have influenced the way they talked about graphic novels in the reading group is therefore unclear. Implications of the Study Implications for Pedagogy As graphic novels continue to attract attention as a pedagogical tool, some literacy educators have cited a need for classroom teachers to teach the conventions involved in reading them (Hammond, 2009; Rudiger, 2006). While adopting this approach may prove useful, there is a need to proceed with caution. As Jacobs (2007) rightly observes, readers “are influenced by design conventions and grammars as [they] read but are not determined by them” (p. 24). Indeed, my study suggests that students who have experience reading graphic novels are likely to have appropriated different ways of reading and talking about them as a result of their situatedness in different communities of comics readers. Recognizing this, it is important that educators view the interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) they invite students to take up as expanding, rather than replacing, a repertoire (Iser, 1978) some of them will already have begun to develop. It is also important that educators recognize that direct instruction is not the only method of heightening student awareness of the conventions graphic novels and other forms of multimodal texts employ. As my study indicates, creating opportunities for students with a range of experience reading graphic novels to share their responses to them in the context of discussions may prove equally effective. Adopting a sociocultural view of language and learning, Mercer (2000) uses the term “interthinking” to refer to the important role language plays in helping people make sense of their experience. In doing so he argues that a crucial aspect of interthinking “is that the participants share relevant past experience and information and use this ‘common knowledge’ as the foundation, the context, for the joint activity that
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follows” (p. 2). My study suggests that educators might productively create opportunities for students with varying degrees of experience reading graphic novels to share their responses to them, as doing may introduce them to new ways of reading and talking about this particular form of text. Readers will recall that self-reports the students who participated in my study provided suggested that the way they interacted with the visual design of graphic novels changed as a result of their involvement in the reading group. Specifically, four of the six participants reported spending more time examining images. In each instance, they credited their involvement in the reading group discussions with having brought about that change. It would seem, then, that teachers who wish to heighten students’ awareness of the conventions that graphic novels employ, or who wish to help them appreciate the communicative power of images, ought to create opportunities for them to share their responses to graphic novels with other readers in the context of class discussions. Adopting such an approach may prove particularly effective in contexts where students have a range of experience reading graphic novels. Arguments that cite a need for educators to teach students how to interact with graphic novels are potentially premised on a deficit view of this particular form of literacy in that they assume that students lack the knowledge needed to transact with them. However, Siegel (2006) observes that “children and youth are not empty vessels waiting to be ‘filled’ with knowledge about multimodality. Rather, their knowledge is considerable” (p. 74). My study supports that observation. As was seen, the participants drew on a range of semiotic resources that were available to them in the design of the graphic novels they read regardless of their experience with the form. In doing so they made use of grammars (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001) that are associated with those resources, the result of which made it possible
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for them to interpret the graphic novels they read in ways that were for them meaningful. If the participants lacked anything, it was a sense of appreciation for the resources they navigated as readers of multimodal texts, and the body of knowledge they drew on to do so. Recognizing this, educators might help students make visible the processes they engage in as readers of graphic novels. Again, providing them with opportunities to share their responses to graphic novels in the context of class discussions constitutes one way of helping them work toward this end. Though I argue that educators ought to approach the prospect of “teaching” the conventions graphic novels employ with caution, I do not mean to suggest that they should avoid introducing students to alternative ways of reading and talking about graphic novels altogether. Indeed, my study suggests that doing so may broaden the repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies they have developed for interacting with them. As was seen, the participants were unaccustomed to reading and talking about graphic novels analytically, which for them meant examining underlying themes and meanings, and understanding how a text functioned from the standpoint of design. Several of the participants were surprised to discover that it was possible to interrogate the visual design of graphic novels, and they cited a need for high school teachers to create opportunities for students to engage in visual analysis. By helping students construct a medium-specific language that directs attention to the range of semiotic resources they draw on as readers of multimodal texts, and by encouraging them to reflect on the rhetorical strategies such texts employ to persuade and move readers, literacy educators may help them become active, rather than passive, consumers of multimodal texts. At the current time there is reason to believe that English language arts teachers may lack recourse to a metalanguage (New London Group, 1996) for talking about graphic
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novels, the result of which may impede their willingness to use this form of reading material in the classroom. Annett (2008) found that the English teachers in his study considered themselves “weakest in the vocabulary of the graphic texts and the history of the genre” (p. 168). Likewise, Semali (2003) observes that “few teachers have been provided with much opportunity to develop a language, a set of useful concepts, with which to think critically about multimedia texts” (p. 276). Recognizing this, teacher education programs that embrace a broader view of literacy, and which acknowledge that people communicate using sign systems beyond the spoken or written word, ought to introduce courses of study that are designed to help pre-service teachers construct a language that will enable them to think and talk critically about multimodal texts, digital and non-digital alike. Doing so might require faculty to form inter-departmental partnerships, leading English teachers and art educators to pool their respective knowledge and work collaboratively. When graphic novels are acknowledged as texts that are appropriate for use with adolescent audiences, it is often in the context of children’s and young adult literature courses. As a result, the exposure that teachers and pre-service teachers receive to graphic novels may prove somewhat cursory. Recognizing this, education programs ought to offer professional development courses for classroom teachers who are interested in using graphic novels with students. Rather than focusing exclusively on the pedagogical ends toward which graphic novels might be put, however, such courses should create opportunities for teachers to examine them from the standpoint of semiotics, and talk about them as aesthetic objects. Offering courses that introduce teachers to the history of the graphic novel, and which encourage them to read and think critically about an array of graphic novels from the standpoint of design, will likely enhance their comfort level doing so. At the individual school level, classroom teachers who are interested in using graphic novels might assemble
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their own reading groups, as doing so will enable them to gain experience reading and talking about graphic novels with colleagues. Although the students who took part in my study expressed an interest in graphic novels as a form of reading material, they were cognizant of stigmas attached to them, and to those who read them. Such an observation is consistent with findings reported by other researchers. Hammond (2009), for example, found that the high school students with whom she worked were aware of stigmas that they assumed detracted from the popularity of graphic novels. Likewise, Annett (2008) observed a tendency for academically inclined students to resist graphic novels, which they deemed “unworthy of serious study” (p. 166). These findings, coupled with those reported in this dissertation, suggest that teachers who are interested in using graphic novels in the secondary classroom might encounter resistance on the part of students, particularly those who lack experience reading them, or who question their literary merit. Recognizing this, educators ought to share not only their success stories using graphic novels in the classroom, but also the challenges they face doing so. Conference presentations and journal articles might address strategies that educators have found effective in responding to students who resist graphic novels and other forms of popular literature that conventional wisdom suggests lack literary merit. Most importantly, my study underscores a need for literacy educators to revisit their definitions of literacy and ask whether, following the New London Group (1996), they are willing to extend that term to include transactions with semiotic systems other than written language. The aforementioned statement has profound implications so far as literacy pedagogy is concerned, not least because it raises the question of whether schools are currently preparing students to read and write in a broad sense. Two decades have passed since Charles Suhor (1984) challenged educators to embrace a “semiotics-based curriculum”
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that invites students to interact with the host of signifying systems that are available to them in the larger culture. Given the frequency with which adolescents interact with texts that blend an array of semiotic resources outside of school, it would seem that Suhor’s (1984) argument warrants renewed attention. English educators in particular might consider a question Hal broached toward the end of the final reading group meeting when he asked, “Is our idea of literature a tiny bit out of date?” (Final Whole Group Interview, 41, 1875). If, as Moje (2008) observes, adolescents preferred texts are in fact multimodal (p. 207), Hal’s question merits serious consideration. Suggestions for Future Research A central finding that emerged in my study points to the existence of communities of comics readers—that is, groups of individuals who are united by a shared interest in comic books, graphic novels, or manga, and who come together at either a local or a global level for the purpose of talking about them. Likewise, a recurring theme suggests that sponsors (Brandt, 2001) play an important role in creating opportunities for novices to talk about the comic books, graphic novels, or manga they read with other, more experienced readers. Recognizing this, future research might examine the role communities of comics readers play in fostering and maintaining comics literacy by asking how their members interact with one another over an extended period of time. Similarly, future research might ask how readers who are situated in different social and cultural groups read and talk about graphic novels to determine whether they have, as I argued, cultivated different strategies for interacting with the conventions that graphic novels employ. As will be recalled, the participants who took part in my study were identified by their English teachers as proficient readers. Recognizing this, future research might conduct comparison studies and ask how struggling and gifted readers read and talk about graphic
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novels, or how individuals from different communities of comics readers do so. Likewise, scholars might compare the interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) that experienced readers and novices draw on in their transactions with graphic novels. Finally, future research might explore whether graphic novels and traditional novels inspire different levels of intellectual and affective engagement, a claim that is often made by teachers who have used the former with students (Annett, 2008; Campbell, 2007). As was seen, self-reports the participants provided indicated that the manner in which they read and talked about graphic novels in out-of-school contexts was influenced by the ends toward which the community of comics readers to which they belonged envisioned itself working. Moreover, the participants suggested that they were unaccustomed to reading and talking about graphic novels analytically, a manner of interacting with texts that they associated with school. Moje (2008) identifies a tendency for educators to appropriate texts that are popular with adolescents without bothering to ask “how purpose for engaging in a given literate practice shapes one’s commitment to the practice and the texts associated with the practice” (p. 216). Recognizing this, future research might ask why adolescents who express an interest in comic books, graphic novels or manga are motivated to interact with them, and what they understand themselves to gain from doing so. Mapping the repertoire (Iser, 1978) of interpretive strategies (Fish, 1980) adolescents have cultivated for interacting with graphic novels in out-of-school contexts may prove equally valuable in that it might allow educators to productively build on them. Readers will recall that a finding that emerged in my study suggested that taking part in the reading group discussions brought about qualitative changes in the way the participants interacted with the visual design of the graphic novels they read. It should be noted, however, that this claim was based on self-reports the participants provided. Recognizing
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this, future research might ask whether the strategies that readers bring to bear on graphic novels change as they are given opportunities to talk about them with other readers over an extended period of time. To do so, researchers might assemble a reading group similar to the one on which my study focused, and make use of periodic think-aloud protocols to determine whether or not the strategies individuals draw on change over time. As explained in chapter three, the semiotic resources that I suggested the participants drew on to construct meaning in their transactions with graphic novels constituted recurring themes in the data. A second coder did not validate them, nor was I able to report the frequency with which individual readers drew on the resources that I identified. The findings were shared with the participants, however, through a process of member checking (Lincoln & Guba, 1985), the result of which allowed me to assess the credibility of my findings by measuring them against the manner in which the participants understood themselves to have interacted with graphic novels. Future research might use the categories that I identified in a coding scheme for use with think-aloud protocols, as doing so would determine whether they account for the manner in which readers in other contexts interact with graphic novels. To date, few applied studies have questioned the ends toward which secondary teachers put graphic novels in the classroom (Annett, 2008). Examining the objectives toward which teachers put graphic novels, and comparing them to the objectives toward which they put traditional literature, is likely to prove informative. Moreover, future research might ask whether class discussions that take place around graphic novels and traditional literature result in different levels of engagement. Those who advocate using graphic novels in educational contexts seldom seem to acknowledge the possibility that students might resist them. Recognizing this, mapping student resistance to graphic novels could also prove informative.
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On a final note, with the exception of Persepolis, a memoir, the graphic novels the participants read in this study constituted works of fiction. In this sense the texts invited them to adopt what Rosenblatt (1938/1995, 1978) refers to as an aesthetic stance as they read. Graphic novels are not, however, limited to the realm of fiction. Indeed, a growing number of non-fiction texts are available to educators, as are graphic novels that support the study of academic subjects such as science and social studies. Recognizing this, future research might ask whether the manner in which students read literary and non-literary graphic novels differs to any extent.
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Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Walsh, M. (2006). The ‘textual shift’: Examining the reading process with print, visual and multimodal texts. Australian Journal of Language and Literacy, 29(1), 24-37. Weiner, S. (2004). Show, don’t tell: Graphic novels in the classroom. English Journal, 94(2), 114-117. Wenger, E. (1998). Communities of practice: Learning, meaning, and identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wertham, F. (1954). Seduction of the innocent. New York: Rinehart. Williams, N. (1995). The comic book as course book: Why and how. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 390277). Wimsatt, W. K. (1954). The verbal icon: Studies in the meaning of poetry. Lexington: University of Kentucky Press. Wolk, D. (2007). Reading comics: How graphic novels work and what they mean. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press. Worthy, J., Moorman, M., & Turner, M. (1999). What Johnny likes to read is hard to find in school. Reading Research Quarterly, 34(1), 12-27. Wright, B. W. (2001). Comic book nation: The transformation of youth culture in America. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Wright, G., & Sherman, R. B. (2006). Comics redux. Reading Improvement, 43(4), 165172. Young Adult Library Services Association. (2010). Great graphic novels for teens committee: Policies and procedures. Retrieved May 17, 2010, from http:// www.ala.org/ala/mgrps/divs/yalsa/booklistsawards/greatgraphicnovelsforteens/ policies.cfm Young, J. P. (1998). Discussion as a practice of carnival. In D. E. Alvermann, K. A. Hinchman, D. W. Moore, S. F. Phelps, and D. R. Waff (Eds.), Reconceptualizing the literacies in adolescents’ lives (pp. 247-264). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Earlbaum Associates.
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APPENDIX A PARTICIPANT RECRUITMENT LETTER
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___________________________________College of Education & Human Ecology 29 West Woodruff Avenue 200 Ramseyer Hall Columbus, Ohio 43210
Dear Student: You are receiving this letter because your English teacher or guidance counselor has identified you as a strong reader with a potential interest in graphic novels. As such, we would like to invite you to participate in our research study called Reading Images: How Secondary Students Read and Respond to Graphic Novels in the Context of an After-School Reading Group. To conduct the study, we are organizing a graphic novel reading group that will meet seven times after-school in Hamilton High School’s Learning Center between January and May 2009. If you choose to participate in the study, you will take part in the following activities:
complete a reading interest survey. read four graphic novels that we have selected. participate in seven videotaped after-school reading group meetings. record your ideas about the graphic novels you read in a response journal. participate in two videotaped group interviews. participate in one audio-taped individual interview.
The individual surveys, response journals, and audio-tapes and videotapes of interviews and group discussions will not be kept indefinitely; all tapes and transcriptions of tapes will be destroyed after five years. To ensure your anonymity, we will assign you a pseudonym (a false name). You are not expected to purchase copies of the graphic novels we read. Instead, we plan to provide copies for you, which you are free to keep. The four graphic novels we will read include:
Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi
Night Fisher by R. Kikuo Johnson Pride of Baghdad by Brian K. Vaughan and Niko Henrichon Laika by Nick Abadzis
Each of the graphic novels appears on the Young Adult Library Services Association’s list of “Great Graphic Novels for Teens.” It is important to note, however, that they do address mature subject matter, and occasionally contain strong language. It is important that you (and your parents/guardians) are comfortable with this if you choose to participate. We estimate that you will invest approximately 30 hours in the study over a period of 17 weeks. Recognizing that this is a significant time investment, we have worked with Mr. Gellar, the building principal, and arranged to offer the reading group as an independent study for which you are able to earn .25 credit hours, as well as summer service hours.
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As with all research, your participation is completely voluntary, and you are free to withdraw from the study at any time without penalty. In keeping with school policy, however, you must remain in the reading group through its conclusion, attend each of the meetings, and complete all of the assigned activities to receive school credit. Please share this letter with your parent/guardian as you will ultimately need their permission to participate. If, after having talked with your parent/guardian, you are still interested in participating in our study, please arrange a time to meet with your guidance counselor and sign up. Space is limited, and the reading group is open to the first 12 students who enroll. Once the reading group is full, we will contact you through your guidance counselor and invite you to attend one of two informational meetings that we intend to hold for you and your parent/guardian. At the informational meeting we will introduce ourselves, talk more about our study, and review our expectations for you. We will also distribute and review copies of an assent and parental permission form that you and your parent/guardian will need to sign and return. If you or your parent/guardian have any questions regarding this research or your rights related to participation in this study, please feel free to contact either of us. Thank you for your time and consideration. Sincerely,
Dr. Anna Soter Associate Professor (614) 292-8049
[email protected]
Mr. Sean Connors Graduate Assistant (614) 499-7131
[email protected]
Note: If you are interested in participating in the Graphic Novels Reading Group, fill-out the following form and return it to the guidance office by December 1, 2008. Please include your email address as Dr. Audrey Fisher, Hamilton’s media specialist, will be contacting you to remind you about the informational meeting you will need to attend with your parent/guardian. ------------------------------------------------------------------I am interested in participating in the Graphic Novels Reading Group and plan to attend the informational meeting. _________________________________________ Name (Please print) _________________________________________ E-mail Address
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__________________ Date
APPENDIX B READING INTEREST SURVEY
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Name ___________________________
Date ___/___/___
Reading Interest Survey Although educators have taken an interest in graphic novels in recent years, we know relatively little about what high school students think about them as a form of reading material, or how they experience them as readers. By completing this survey, you are helping me begin to answer these questions. The following survey is designed to examine your preferences as a reader, and to gauge your experiences reading different kinds of material, including graphic novels, both in school and at home. Although I do plan to use the information that you provide in my study, I will not identify you by name. Instead, I will assign you a pseudonym (or false name). Your willingness to answer the questions openly and honestly, and to explain yourself in detail whenever necessary, is appreciated. Thank you. PART I. DIRECTIONS: Place an “X” in the box that best answers each question. 1) Age: 2) Gender:
14
15 Male
3) Race/Ethnicity: 4) Class:
17
18
Female Caucasian Hispanic
Freshman
5) Do you like to read?
16
African-American Other _______________ Sophomore
Yes
Junior
Asian
Senior
No
6) Which of the following materials do you read most often in your high school English classes? (Choose one) Novels Poems Short stories
Plays Newspapers Magazines
Non-fiction (e.g., biographies) Comic books/Graphic Novels Other __________________
7) Approximately how many hours per week do you spend reading homework assignments (e.g., novels, plays, articles, essays, etc.) for your English class? I don’t read for homework Less than 1 hour Between 1 and 2 hours Between 2 and 3 hours More than 3 hours
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8) How often do your high school English teachers allow students to share their thoughts or opinions about the literature they read in class discussions? Always
Often
Sometimes
Rarely
Never
9) Do you usually enjoy the literature (novels, plays, short stories, etc.) that you are assigned to read for your high school English classes? Yes No 10) In the space provided, list the titles of any novels, plays, or short stories that you recall reading in your high school English classes. ____________________ ____________________
______________________
____________________ ____________________
______________________
____________________ ____________________
_______________________
____________________ ____________________
_______________________
11) Do you read for pleasure outside of school?
Yes
No
12) Which of the following print materials do you most prefer to read for pleasure? (Choose one) Novels Poems Short stories Magazines
Comic books/Graphic Novels Comic Strips Non-fiction (e.g., biographies) Other _________________
Newspapers Plays Websites
13) On average, how many hours do you spend reading for pleasure each week? I don’t read for pleasure Less than 1 hour Between 1 and 2 hours Between 2 and 3 hours More than 3 hours 14) How many works of prose fiction (e.g., novels or short stories) do you think that you read for pleasure in the past year? None – I don’t read prose fiction for pleasure. Fewer than 5 Between 5 and 10 More than 10
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15) What type of prose fiction (e.g., novels or short stories) do you prefer to read for pleasure? (Check all that apply) horror mystery sports romance
science-fiction fantasy classics adventure
teen issues (YA) animal stories historical fiction realistic
Other_________
16) What do you tend to look for most when choosing a work of prose fiction (e.g., novels or short stories) to read for pleasure? (Choose one) I don’t read prose fiction for pleasure. Relevant themes Intellectual stimulation
Characters like myself Suspense An interesting story Action Other _________________
17) In the space provided, list the titles of any prose fiction (e.g., novels or short stories) that you recall reading for pleasure in the past year. ____________________
____________________
______________________
____________________
____________________
______________________
____________________
____________________
_______________________
18) Do you read comic strips?
Yes
No
19) How long have you been reading comic strips? I don’t read comic strips. Fewer than 3 years Between 4 and 8 years More than 8 years 20) Do you read comic books and/or graphic novels?
Yes
No
21) How long have you been reading comic books and/or graphic novels? I don’t read either comic books or graphic novels Fewer than 3 years Between 4 and 8 years More than 8 years
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22) How many comic books and/or graphic novels do you think you read in the past year? None – I don’t read comic books and/or graphic novels. Fewer than 5 Between 5 and 10 More than 10 23) What kind of comic books and/or graphic novels do you prefer to read? (Check all that apply) horror mystery manga
science-fiction fantasy romance
teen issues (YA) superhero adventure
Realistic
Other ________
24) What do you look for most when choosing a comic book and/or graphic novel to read? (Choose one) I don’t read comic books or graphic novels. Relevant themes Intellectual stimulation
Characters like myself An interesting story Quality art
Suspense Action Other ____
25) In the space below, list the titles of any comic books or graphic novels that you recall reading for pleasure in the past year. ____________________
____________________
______________________
____________________
____________________
______________________
____________________
____________________
_______________________
26) Have you ever been asked to study a comic book and/or graphic novel in a high school class? Yes No If “yes,” what was the class, and the title of the graphic novel? _____________________ PART II. DIRECTIONS: Answer each of the following questions using complete sentences. Explain yourself as thoroughly as possible, as doing so will help me to better understand your thinking. 27) Do you talk with other people (e.g., friends, parents, siblings, teachers, etc.) about the prose fiction (e.g., novels or short stories) that you read for pleasure? If so, who, and what kind of things do you tend to talk about?
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28) Do you talk with other people (e.g., friends, parents, siblings, teachers, etc.) about the comic books and/or graphic novels that you read? If so, who, and what kinds of things do you tend to talk about?
29) For what reasons do (or don’t) you choose to read prose fiction (e.g., novels or short stories) for pleasure?
30) For what reasons do (or don’t) you choose to read comic books and/or graphic novels?
31) Is there anything else that you think I should know about your reading preferences, or about your conceptions of graphic novels and your experiences reading them?
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APPENDIX C FIRST SEMI-STRUCTURED WHOLE GROUP INTERVIEW PROTOC OL
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First Semi-Structured Group Interview Protocol 1) How would you define the word “literature?” In your opinion, what determines whether a novel or a play is recognized as a work of literature? 2) Do you think that comic books or graphic novels constitute a form of literature? Why, or why not? 3) Are you aware of any stereotypes that surround comic books or graphic novels? If so, what are they, and to what extent do you think they are justified? 4) Do you read comic books or graphic novels? Why, or why not? 5) Do you find some forms of literature more difficult to read than others? If so, for what reasons? 6) Do you find comic books or graphic novels difficult to read? Why, or why not? 7) How did you learn to read novels? How did you learn to read comic books or graphic novels? 8) In your opinion, is there any special knowledge involved in reading a novel? Is there any special knowledge involved in reading a comic book or a graphic novel? 9) Are there any differences between reading a piece of prose fiction (e.g., novels or short stories) and reading a comic book or a graphic novel? If so, what are they? 10) Are there any similarities between reading a piece of prose fiction and reading a comic book or a graphic novel? If so, what are they? 11) Is there anything that a person can get out of reading a piece of prose fiction that he or she can’t get out of reading a graphic novel? If so, what? 12) Is there anything that a person can get out of reading a graphic novel that he or she can’t get out of reading a piece of prose fiction? If so, what? 13) Has reading a novel or a short story ever influenced the way you thought, or led you to see the world in a different way? What do you think gives a novel the ability to do so? 14) Has reading a comic book or a graphic novel ever influenced the way you thought, or led you to see the world in a different way? What do you think gives a comic book or graphic novel the ability to do so? 15) Have you ever re-read a novel or a short story for pleasure? For what reasons would (or wouldn’t) you do so?
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16) Have you ever re-read a comic book or a graphic novel? For what reasons would (or wouldn’t) you do so? 17) Would you like to study a graphic novel in a high school class? Why, or why not? 18) Is there anything else that you think I should know about your conceptions of graphic novels, or about your experiences reading them?
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APPENDIX D FINAL SEMI-STRUCTURED WHOLE GROUP INTERVIEW PROTOC OL
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Final Semi-Structured Group Interview Protocol 1) What, if anything, did you like about reading and talking about graphic novels? 2) What, if anything, didn’t you like about reading and talking about graphic novels? 3) Was there anything about the graphic novels we read that surprised you? If so, what? Was there anything that disappointed you? 4) Is there anything a person can get out of reading a novel or a short story that he or she can’t get out of reading a graphic novel? 5) Is there anything that a person can get out of reading a graphic novel that he or she can’t get out of reading a novel? 6) When we met for the first time in January I asked you if you were aware of stereotypes that are associated with graphic novels. In light of your experiences reading them, do you think these stereotypes are justified? 7) Is there ultimately something childish about reading books that make use of images and words? Do they require less of readers than a novel that employs written language alone might? 8) During our second meeting I asked whether you thought it was possible to read images. How would you respond to that question now? 9) In her mid-term, one of the students in a course I’m teaching wrote, “The idea behind introducing graphic novels in schools is to help students who aren’t very good readers, and encourage readers who aren’t interested in reading or who do not find it interesting and exciting.” How would you respond to her assertion? Is it possible that, in the end, graphic novels simply aren’t capable of challenging readers, or of inspiring them to think critically? 10) Did you recognize any challenges involved in reading the graphic novels I gave you? 11) As you read the graphic novels, were there things that you found yourself paying particularly close attention to? Were there things that you found yourself paying less attention to? Why do you think this was the case? 12) In light of your experiences reading them, do you think that graphic novels constitute a legitimate form of literature? 13) Did any of the graphic novels we read influence the way you think, or lead you to view the world in a different way? If so, how? 14) Would you re-read any of the four graphic novels? Why, or why not?
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15) Will you continue to read graphic novels in the future? Why, or why not? 16) Would you want to study a graphic novel in a high school class? Why, or why not? 17) In your opinion, is there anything that high school students stand to learn from reading and talking about graphic novels? If so, what? If not, why? 18) Is there anything else you would like me to know about your conceptions of graphic novels, or about your experiences in our reading group?
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APPENDIX E INSTRUCTIONS FOR RESPONSE JOURNAL
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Response Journal It might not seem like it, but we are quite active when we read a work of literature. We make predictions about events to come, savor the memories that particular scenes call forth, ask ourselves questions, draw comparisons between situations that characters face and situations we’ve encountered in our own lives, and evaluate our reading experience to determine whether we are enjoying a story or not. Because we perform this work in our minds, it remains hidden from view. One way to make our experiences reading a work of literature visible is to maintain a response journal. A response journal is a written record of your thoughts and feelings as you read. It may sound simple, but maintaining a response journal is actually quite demanding. Above all else, it challenges you to “watch” yourself reading. That is, it challenges you to stay in tune with your own thoughts and feelings as a reader, something that we don’t always do. As you learn to do so, you will find that your response journal contains: Questions that you ask yourself about characters or events in a story. Personal memories that the images, characters or events in a book call forth. Predictions about the direction you expect a story to follow, and reasons why. Reflections on images, ideas, or passages that strike you as important. Comparisons you make between yourself and the characters in a book. Connections you draw between the story that you’re reading, and the stories that you’ve encountered in other books, films, or television shows. Evaluations of the artwork or pictures you encounter in a book. Emotional responses to scenes, images, or dialogue. Thoughts and feelings that characters, events, or artwork inspire in you. Comments on the way an author chooses to tell a story—for example, using black and white images as opposed to color—or on the style of artwork that he or she employs (e.g., cartoon as opposed to realist). A literary critic that I respect wrote, “No one else can read a literary work for us.” She meant that each of us brings a unique set of experiences, beliefs, values, and attitudes to a book, the result of which leads us to experience it in ways that no one else can. By asking you to maintain a response journal, I hope to understand how you experience the graphic novels that we read as a group.
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DIRECTIONS: As you read each of the four graphic novels, you will be asked to maintain a response journal. It is important that you do your best to record any thoughts, memories, or questions that occur to you as you read. If you’d like, you can respond using drawings as well. You won’t catch everything, but if you remain attentive, you’ll be surprised at what you’re able to document. Please don’t provide plot summaries of the graphic novels. Instead, I encourage you to view your response journal as an opportunity to document your own unique experiences as a reader. As you work on your journal, there are a few directions to which I would ask you to adhere: 1) You will be asked to turn in your journal each time we meet, and you will be given a new journal in which to write for the following week. By the time we finish meeting you will have submitted a total of four journals (one for each graphic novel). Please make sure that you are prepared to turn your journal in when we meet as a group. Because I intend to use your journals to understand how high school students read graphic novels, I will need to keep them at the conclusion of the reading group. Should you want a copy, however, I will be more than happy to make one for you. 2) Please date your journal entries each time you sit down to write. I do not expect you to read a graphic novel in its entirety in a single setting, though you’re more than welcome to do so. Feel free to space your reading out over time, but make sure you’ve finished reading the graphic novel and writing your journal by the time we meet. 3) Skip a line each time you begin to address a new subject, as doing so will help me to distinguish between one idea and the next. 4) Use complete sentences when writing to ensure that I am able to follow your thoughts. If you write in fragments, or use shorthand, I’ll likely be confused. Remember, you’re attempting to provide me with a glimpse into your mind as you read. 5) When you refer to specific images, provide a page number (if possible). 6) Keep your journal beside you as read so that you are able to record you thoughts as they occur to you. Don’t wait until you finish reading to begin writing, as you will forget many of your ideas. 7) Remember, although I’m asking you to share your personal responses to the graphic novels, I do intend to read your work. As such your reading journal is a public document. In the event that you share information that leads me to believe you are in harm’s way, I am obliged to report it.
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On a final note, have fun with the assignment. Your journal isn’t being turned in for a grade, and there are no “right” or “wrong” answers. There’s only your reading of the graphic novels!
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APPENDIX F DIRECTIONS FOR SUMMATIVE JOURNAL
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Summative Journal Over the past few months you read four graphic novels and shared your thoughts about them with other readers. Now, as our time together comes to an end, I am asking you to compose a final, summative journal entry in which you reflect on your experiences in the reading group. Specifically, I am curious to know what you thought about the experience as a whole; what you thought about the graphic novels you read; and, what, if anything, you got out of reading the graphic novels and talking about them with other readers. It is important that you invest the time needed to evaluate your experience in a thorough and thoughtful manner. Likewise, it is important that you are honest and open in your reflection. The following questions are intended to stimulate your thinking. You are not limited to them! Rather, I would invite you to address other issues that you find important, or that you think might help me with my work. Directions: Compose a summative journal entry in which you reflect on your experiences in the graphic novel reading group. Your journal need not be handwritten. If you prefer, you can type it and turn in a printed copy when we next meet. As you write, it is important that you address the categories outlined below. Part I – How would you characterize your experiences in the reading group? - What did you like about the reading group? What didn’t you like? - In what ways were the reading group discussions similar to the conversations you have about literature in your English classes? In what ways were they different? - Did you find the reading group discussions intellectually stimulating? Why? - Did you generally enjoy the time you spent in the reading group? Why, or why not? Part II – How would you evaluate your experiences with the graphic novels? - What did you like about reading the graphic novels? What didn’t you like? - What, if anything, surprised you about the graphic novels you read, and what disappointed you? - Did you find one graphic novel more challenging to read than another? For what reasons? - Of the four graphic novels you read, which was your favorite, and why? - From the standpoint of craft, which of the four graphic novels do you think was the strongest? For what reasons? - Would you encourage your friends or family members to read any of the graphic novels? Why, or why not? Part III. – What, if anything, did you get out of participating in the reading group? - Did you find the time you spent in the reading group worthwhile? Why? - In your opinion, do high school students stand to learn anything from reading graphic novels and talking about them with others? If so, what?
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Is there anything else that you think I might want to know about either your conceptions of the graphic novels or our conversations about them?
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APPENDIX G SAMPLE FIELD NOTES
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Field Notes Observation Site: Hamilton High School Focus: Discussion of Night Fisher Date: March 3, 2009 As I sat at the table and looked over my agenda I found myself wondering where the participants were. It was 3:15 and they had yet to arrive. Sarah arrived soon after, but any sense of relief I felt was short lived. She immediately informed me that she had to attend a funeral at 4:30, and was unable to stay for the meeting. She turned in her response journal, and asked whether there was anything she needed to know about for the next meeting. Bill and Saki arrived as we were talking, and so I asked to speak with her outside. Once in the Learning Center I told her that I was pleased with the response journal she had maintained for Persepolis, and that I appreciated the effort she had put forth. My compliment appeared to please her, though she informed me that her response journal for Night Fisher wasn’t as good. She went on to explain that she found herself “getting angry” as she read graphic novel, though she failed to expand on this point. Her comment intrigued me, and I found myself regretting the fact that she was unable to participate in the discussion. I told her that I hoped she’d addressed the frustration she experienced in her journal, and she indicated that she had. After bringing her up to speed regarding a few procedural items that I intended to address at the meeting, I gave Sarah her copy of Pride of Baghdad and the corresponding response journal and bid her farewell. It would be an understatement to say that I was disappointed when I learned that Sarah was unable to stay for the meeting this afternoon. Of all the participants, she has the least experience reading comics, and I was looking forward to hearing her thoughts about Johnson’s graphic novel, particularly because he capitalizes on the possibilities that the comics medium presents in ways that surpass Satrapi’s work on Persepolis. I also found her comment about her having grown angry as she read Night Fisher intriguing, and would have liked to know more about it. To be honest, I had also hoped that the entire group would be in attendance for this afternoon’s meeting. I’m unsure how to go about addressing the issue of attendance, but have decided that two absences has to result in a person’s being expelled from the study. I certainly appreciate the fact that Sarah was required to attend a funeral, and have come to accept the fact that working with human subjects (particularly adolescents) will inevitably present challenges. Nevertheless, I also feel like I have a lot at stake in this project, and find it difficult not to feel frustrated. Upon returning to the classroom I found Saki and Bill deep in conversation and helping themselves to pizza and soda. My exchange with Sarah had temporarily distracted me, and I consequently failed to pick up on the subject of their discussion. Instead, I somewhat distractedly took my seat at the table. It’s at times such as this that I’m able to appreciate the drawbacks involved in conducting research as a participant-observer. For the second time in as many meetings I found myself distracted by an unexpected exchange with a participant, the result of which led me to lose track of the events taking place around me. In one of the books I read on qualitative research the author underscored the importance of not taking events that arise in the field personally. I recognize that this is great advice, but it’s still difficult to overcome my desire to facilitate the best research project possible. Perhaps this is the root of my problem. Is it possible that I’m trying to exert control over the project, and in the process of doing so find myself confronting the fact that qualitative research prohibits control? At the
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same time, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect the participants to abide by their commitment. The tenor of Saki and Bill’s conversation (which up until now had existed in the background for me) suggested that they were deeply engaged with the topic they were exploring, and before long I realized that they were talking about the graphic novel I’d asked them to read for this week. Tuning in on the conversation I heard Bill comment on the numerous moral and ethical questions that he felt the novel brought up. Saki concurred with his observation, and suggested that the author left readers to resolve these questions on their own, as opposed to resolving them neatly. I finally joined in their conversation, and asked whether either of them had sensed that Lacy was dating Jem at the novel’s conclusion. Bill suggested that he had, though Saki explained that he had failed to pick up on that possibility. Following a brief exchange, Bill began to tell me about a film he had watched over the weekend. It was entitled Zeitgeist, and charged the U.S. government with having covered up the truth surrounding the events that took place on September 11th, 2001. Around this time Barry arrived, and, after helping himself to pizza, he joined Saki, Bill and me at the table. I was struck by how deeply engaged Saki and Bill were in the conversation they were having about Night Fisher. It was evident that reading Johnson’s graphic novel set them to thinking, and led them to face several substantive questions. Listening to them talk, I found myself thinking that this was exactly the sort of conversation in which teachers (myself included) strive to engage students. Ironically, it had taken off without any intervention on my behalf. Instead, it was born of authentic questions that Saki and Bill found themselves facing.
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APPENDIX H INTERVIEW PROTOCOL FOR USE WITH ENGLISH TEACHERS
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Site: Hamilton High School Focus: Interviews with English Teacher Date: 1) How long have you taught English? How long have you taught English at this high school? 2) What courses do you teach? 3) Do you find that you spend more time with a particular genre (i.e., novel, poetry, short story, drama), or do you generally afford the different genres equal treatment across the course of a school year? 4) Are you required to teach particular titles? If so, what are they? 5) Do you have the freedom to introduce titles of your own choosing? If so, what criteria do you use to make your selections? 6) What do you want students to know about literature, and why? 7) What kinds of things do you invite students to focus on when they read a work of prose fiction? 8) What, if any, challenges do you tend to face so far as literature instruction is concerned? What do you do to address them? 9) How often do you use discussion in class? Toward what ends do you put discussion when you teach a work of literature? 10) What role do you see yourself playing in whole-class discussions about literature? 11) How would you describe the role that students play in discussions about literature? 12) So far as reading prose fiction is concerned, do you find that your students tend to focus more heavily on some aspects of texts than others? If so, what?
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13) What would you say is this particular student’s strengths as a reader? What are his/her limitations? 14) How would you describe the literature program as it exists in the English department? 15) What do you imagine the department hopes to accomplish by asking students to study literature? 16) What do you believe are the strengths of the English department so far as its literature program is concerned? In what ways do you think it could be strengthened? 17) Have you ever taught a graphic novel? If given the opportunity, would you teach a graphic novel? Why? 18) If I were to ask the students with whom I’m working whether they thought their English teachers would view graphic novels as a legitimate form of literature, what do you think they might say? Why? 19) Is there anything in particular about the culture of the department, or of the surrounding community, that you think I ought to know about, or that you believe might help me with my work?
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APPENDIX I INTERVIEW PROTOCOL FOR USE WITH ENGLISH DEPARTMENT CHAIR
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Site: Hamilton High School Focus: Interview with English Department Chairperson Date: May 26, 2009 1) How long have you taught English? How long have you taught English at this high school? 2) How would you describe the literature program as it exists in the English department? 3) What would you say the department hopes to accomplish by asking students to study literature? 4) What challenges does the department face so far as literature instruction is concerned? As a department, how have you attempted to address these challenges? 5) In your opinion, what are the strengths of the English department so far as its literature program is concerned? In what ways do you think it could be strengthened? 6) Generally speaking, do you find that one genre (i.e., novel, poetry, short story, drama) is given more attention in the department, or are the different genres afforded equal treatment across the course of a school year? 7) Are English teachers expected to teach specific titles at the different grade levels? If so, what are they? 8) Do English teachers have the freedom to introduce titles of their own choosing? What, if any, criteria are they expected to adhere to when making their selections? 9) Have you ever taught a graphic novel? If given the opportunity, would you teach a graphic novel? Why? 10) If I were to ask the students with whom I’m working whether they thought their English teachers would view graphic novels as a legitimate form of literature, what do you think they might say? Why? 11) Is there anything in particular about the culture of the department, or the surrounding community, that you think I ought to know about, or that might help me with my work?
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APPENDIX J INTERVIEW PROTOCOL FOR USE WITH MEDIA SPECIALIST
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Site: Hamilton High School Focus: Conversation with Media Specialist Date: May 28, 2009 1) Can you talk about your professional background and the road that brought you to this particular high school? 2) How would you describe the literature program as it exists in the English department? 3) What do you believe are the strengths of the English department so far as its literature program is concerned? In what ways do you think it could be strengthened? 4) Can you talk about the fiction collection you have in the Learning Center? Approximately how many titles do you shelve, and how do you go about determining what books you’ll order? 5) As the school’s media specialist, what do you hope to accomplish by introducing students to literature? 6) My conversations with different teachers would seem to suggest that young adult literature doesn’t command much respect in the English department. Based on your experiences, is that a fair assessment? When I walked into the Learning Center, I noticed a book display comprised almost entirely of young adult novels. Can you talk about this? 7) Several of the teachers I’ve talked to indicated that students are keenly aware of the fact that they books they’re asked to read communicate something about their intellectual identities. As the high school’s media specialist, do you find that to be the case as well? In your opinion, where does this comes from? 8) To what extent do you think the community influences the literature that is made available to students in the high school? 9) Are you familiar with the incident that unfolded when the freshman teachers opted to place Sharon Draper’s Tears of a Tiger on the summer reading list? 10) In one of our past conversations you introduced the term “intellectual bullying.” Can you talk more about that?
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11) If I were to ask the students with whom I’m working whether they thought their English teachers would view graphic novels as a legitimate form of literature, what do you think they might say? Why? 12) In a past conversation you noted that the Learning Center shelves graphic novels. Do you find that they’re checked out frequently? 13) Is there anything in particular about the culture of the high school, or about the culture of the surrounding community, that you think I ought to know about, or that you believe might help me with my work?
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