Latest news with #DykestoWatchOutFor
Yahoo
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
The Funniest Part of Alison Bechdel's Work
This is an edition of the Books Briefing, our editors' weekly guide to the best in books. Sign up for it here. Dykes to Watch Out For, the long-running lesbian comic strip that launched Alison Bechdel's career, is full of kitchen-table drama and dry humor, but its title is also more literal than those elements might suggest. Watch out, strip after strip said: Here comes Mo, the main character and author-avatar, spinning her way onto the page like a flustered Tasmanian devil of '90s-lefty anxiety. Look out for Mo, going hoarse over the rise of Pat Buchanan or chiding her circle for not thinking enough about genocide in Bosnia. There's Mo, nose in a newspaper, ignoring her friends' new baby to stress about the latest mainstream co-optation of radical activism. This might sound like a drag, but it's actually one of the funniest running bits in Bechdel's work. For decades, the author has allowed herself—or her stand-in self—to be loudly annoying, and often wrong, on the page. When Mo's a bummer, her friends snap back at her; when she talks or worries her way out of an opportunity to get laid, they poke fun at her. Mo is frequently uptight about other people's choices (to take Prozac, for instance, or to transition), but her diatribes usually end with her being dressed down or hurting someone she cares about. I've always been charmed by how much Bechdel is willing to let Mo be both her double and the butt of her joke. In her new book, Spent, Bechdel blurs the writer-character line even further, Hanna Rosin writes this week, and the result is even more gratifying. First, here are four new stories from The Atlantic's books desk: Return of the shaman Shutting down Salman Rushdie is not going to help America's Johnson & Johnson problem An awkward truth about American work Spent is not a memoir, but neither is it wholly fictional. Instead, it's a graphic novel about a character named Alison Bechdel, who looks just like Alison Bechdel, the book's author—and also an older Mo. Novel-Alison, like real Alison, lives in Vermont with her partner, Holly, and has made a lot of unexpected money off a television adaptation of her memoir. (Bechdel's memoir Fun Home was adapted into a Tony Award–winning musical.) Alison and Holly's closest friends in Vermont are old standbys from DTWOF: Sparrow, Stuart, and their child, J.R.; Ginger; and Lois, who all live in a group house. They're busy with their own various crises and hookups, while Alison finds that more money means more problems. 'There's no avoiding it. She is complicit to the craw with the capitalist crisis,' a box of omniscient narration says in one panel. Alison, sitting at her desk doing her taxes, says aloud: 'Someone should write a book about this.' Spent is that book. Bechdel the author is 'astute enough to know that famous people lamenting the burdens of fame are insufferable,' Rosin writes. So here, 'she's created an Alison whose dilemma parodies contemporary celebrity culture, while also parodying herself, the author.' And, thank goodness, it's still funny. Alison keeps putting her foot in her mouth on social issues, especially in front of the radical recent college dropout J.R. and their companion, Badger. The young adults—furious with the world for going about business as usual during a 21st-century 'polycrisis' (the name of a podcast they host)—resemble in many ways a younger Mo. Meanwhile, Alison wonders where her fighting spirit has gone, growing concerned that luxury and age have dulled her into complacency. When Sparrow suggests that the kids cool it, Bechdel isn't mocking their idealism. And she's not suggesting that Alison's become a coldhearted reactionary—just that she has more to manage, and perhaps more to lose, than she did years before. After all, in DTWOF, Mo's all-consuming neuroticism prevented her from living a fulfilling life, driving away friends and lovers. As in previous books, Bechdel seems to hint that a middle path is the only way forward: Giving in to mega-corporations and nihilistically welcoming climate apocalypse, she suggests, is an abdication of our responsibilities to one another. But her characters have to learn, again and again, that sticking to your principles doesn't have to mean ruining every meal shared with your loved ones. What Is Alison Bechdel's Secret? By Hanna Rosin The cartoonist has spent a lifetime worrying. In a new graphic novel, she finds something like solace. Read the full article. , by Elaine Castillo Girlie Delmundo—not her real name; she adopted it for her high-stress job—is a content moderator at a massive tech firm. Her work involves filtering through a carousel of online horrors so crushing that there are typically three or four suicide attempts among her co-workers each year. Girlie, however, is sardonic and no-nonsense by nature: She's an eldest daughter shaped by the 2008 recession, when her immigrant family lost everything. The job can't break her. But her life transforms when she gets a cushy position as an elite moderator for a virtual-reality firm. Suddenly, Girlie is enjoying perks such as regular VR therapy sessions, in which she experiences rare moments of bliss—swimming through cool water, touching the bark of a tree. The new gig is great, at least for a while. (All may not be as it seems there.) Her new boss, William, also happens to be a total stud, and his presence transforms Castillo's flinty satire of the tech industry into a sultry romance novel. As we watch Girlie's defenses melt, the book shows a woman slowly surrendering to human experiences that can't be controlled. — Valerie Trapp From our list: The 2025 summer reading guide 📚 Autocorrect, by Etgar Keret 📚 When It All Burns, by Jordan Thomas 📚 The South, by Tash Aw The World That 'Wages for Housework' Wanted By Lily Meyer But creating social conditions that are conducive to motherhood doesn't have to be part of a reactionary agenda. Indeed, one of the feminist movement's most radical and idealistic intellectual branches, a 1970s campaign called Wages for Housework, advocated for policies that, if ever implemented, genuinely might set off a baby boom. Its central goal was straightforward: government pay for anybody who does the currently unremunerated labor of caring for their own home and family. On top of that, the movement envisioned communal social structures and facilities including high-quality public laundromats and day cares that would get women out of their homes and give them their own time, such that paying them to do housework wouldn't consign them to a life without anything else. Read the full article. * Lead image: Excerpted from the book Spent, provided courtesy of Mariner Books, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. © 2025 by Alison Bechdel. Reprinted by permission. When you buy a book using a link in this newsletter, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic. Sign up for The Wonder Reader, a Saturday newsletter in which our editors recommend stories to spark your curiosity and fill you with delight. Explore all of our newsletters. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
The Funniest Part of Alison Bechdel's Work
This is an edition of the Books Briefing, our editors' weekly guide to the best in books. Sign up for it here. Dykes to Watch Out For, the long-running lesbian comic strip that launched Alison Bechdel's career, is full of kitchen-table drama and dry humor, but its title is also more literal than those elements might suggest. Watch out, strip after strip said: Here comes Mo, the main character and author-avatar, spinning her way onto the page like a flustered Tasmanian devil of '90s-lefty anxiety. Look out for Mo, going hoarse over the rise of Pat Buchanan or chiding her circle for not thinking enough about genocide in Bosnia. There's Mo, nose in a newspaper, ignoring her friends' new baby to stress about the latest mainstream co-optation of radical activism. This might sound like a drag, but it's actually one of the funniest running bits in Bechdel's work. For decades, the author has allowed herself—or her stand-in self—to be loudly annoying, and often wrong, on the page. When Mo's a bummer, her friends snap back at her; when she talks or worries her way out of an opportunity to get laid, they poke fun at her. Mo is frequently uptight about other people's choices (to take Prozac, for instance, or to transition), but her diatribes usually end with her being dressed down or hurting someone she cares about. I've always been charmed by how much Bechdel is willing to let Mo be both her double and the butt of her joke. In her new book, Spent, Bechdel blurs the writer-character line even further, Hanna Rosin writes this week, and the result is even more gratifying. First, here are four new stories from The Atlantic 's books desk: Spent is not a memoir, but neither is it wholly fictional. Instead, it's a graphic novel about a character named Alison Bechdel, who looks just like Alison Bechdel, the book's author—and also an older Mo. Novel-Alison, like real Alison, lives in Vermont with her partner, Holly, and has made a lot of unexpected money off a television adaptation of her memoir. (Bechdel's memoir Fun Home was adapted into a Tony Award–winning musical.) Alison and Holly's closest friends in Vermont are old standbys from DTWOF: Sparrow, Stuart, and their child, J.R.; Ginger; and Lois, who all live in a group house. They're busy with their own various crises and hookups, while Alison finds that more money means more problems. 'There's no avoiding it. She is complicit to the craw with the capitalist crisis,' a box of omniscient narration says in one panel. Alison, sitting at her desk doing her taxes, says aloud: 'Someone should write a book about this.' Spent is that book. Bechdel the author is 'astute enough to know that famous people lamenting the burdens of fame are insufferable,' Rosin writes. So here, 'she's created an Alison whose dilemma parodies contemporary celebrity culture, while also parodying herself, the author.' And, thank goodness, it's still funny. Alison keeps putting her foot in her mouth on social issues, especially in front of the radical recent college dropout J.R. and their companion, Badger. The young adults—furious with the world for going about business as usual during a 21st-century 'polycrisis' (the name of a podcast they host)—resemble in many ways a younger Mo. Meanwhile, Alison wonders where her fighting spirit has gone, growing concerned that luxury and age have dulled her into complacency. When Sparrow suggests that the kids cool it, Bechdel isn't mocking their idealism. And she's not suggesting that Alison's become a coldhearted reactionary—just that she has more to manage, and perhaps more to lose, than she did years before. After all, in DTWOF, Mo's all-consuming neuroticism prevented her from living a fulfilling life, driving away friends and lovers. As in previous books, Bechdel seems to hint that a middle path is the only way forward: Giving in to mega-corporations and nihilistically welcoming climate apocalypse, she suggests, is an abdication of our responsibilities to one another. But her characters have to learn, again and again, that sticking to your principles doesn't have to mean ruining every meal shared with your loved ones. What Is Alison Bechdel's Secret? By Hanna Rosin The cartoonist has spent a lifetime worrying. In a new graphic novel, she finds something like solace. Read the full article. What to Read Moderation, by Elaine Castillo Girlie Delmundo—not her real name; she adopted it for her high-stress job—is a content moderator at a massive tech firm. Her work involves filtering through a carousel of online horrors so crushing that there are typically three or four suicide attempts among her co-workers each year. Girlie, however, is sardonic and no-nonsense by nature: She's an eldest daughter shaped by the 2008 recession, when her immigrant family lost everything. The job can't break her. But her life transforms when she gets a cushy position as an elite moderator for a virtual-reality firm. Suddenly, Girlie is enjoying perks such as regular VR therapy sessions, in which she experiences rare moments of bliss—swimming through cool water, touching the bark of a tree. The new gig is great, at least for a while. (All may not be as it seems there.) Her new boss, William, also happens to be a total stud, and his presence transforms Castillo's flinty satire of the tech industry into a sultry romance novel. As we watch Girlie's defenses melt, the book shows a woman slowly surrendering to human experiences that can't be controlled. — Valerie Trapp Out Next Week 📚 Autocorrect, by Etgar Keret 📚 When It All Burns, by Jordan Thomas 📚 The South, by Tash Aw Your Weekend Read The World That 'Wages for Housework' Wanted By Lily Meyer But creating social conditions that are conducive to motherhood doesn't have to be part of a reactionary agenda. Indeed, one of the feminist movement's most radical and idealistic intellectual branches, a 1970s campaign called Wages for Housework, advocated for policies that, if ever implemented, genuinely might set off a baby boom. Its central goal was straightforward: government pay for anybody who does the currently unremunerated labor of caring for their own home and family. On top of that, the movement envisioned communal social structures and facilities including high-quality public laundromats and day cares that would get women out of their homes and give them their own time, such that paying them to do housework wouldn't consign them to a life without anything else. * Lead image: Excerpted from the book Spent, provided courtesy of Mariner Books, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. © 2025 by Alison Bechdel. Reprinted by permission.
New York Times
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Alison Bechdel Is Finally at Peace Mixing Fiction and Memoir
Alison Bechdel rose to fame as the creator of the long-running alt-weekly comic strip 'Dykes to Watch Out For,' then jumped to an even wider audience by way of her celebrated graphic memoirs 'Fun Home' and 'Are You My Mother?' Her new book, 'Spent,' is a graphic novel — but it was originally meant to be another memoir, as Bechdel tells Gilbert Cruz on this week's podcast. 'Over the years that I turned myself from being a comic strip writer into a memoirist, I got very sort of self-righteous about memoir as a genre,' Bechdel says. 'I just thought, why would you bother making anything up? Life is incredible. It's all right there. It's served up on a platter every day. Write about that. My friends who are fiction writers would say, You're able to tell a deeper kind of truth with fiction, don't you think? And I would agree with them, but secretly I would think, no, you can't. You've got to tell the actual truth. But that does get really tiresome. It gets tiring. Anyway, after a while, I started to see the merits of fiction — there's stuff you can do that you can't when you're trying to stick to absolute fact. So this was just a very fun, liberatory exercise. Honestly, I feel a little confused myself about what's true and what's not true in the book.' We would love to hear your thoughts about this episode, and about the Book Review's podcast in general. You can send them to books@
Washington Post
20-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Washington Post
Alison Bechdel makes a welcome return to fiction in ‘Spent'
No artistic border is more poorly defended or muzzily mapped than the wavy line that separates self-consciousness from self-parody. Too many of the greats stumble unintentionally across the divide, and when they do they rarely return. The wisest artists are those who make the journey with eyes open and head held high. How else would we know when they're winking? Witness Alison Bechdel in her charmingly shaggy new graphic novel, 'Spent,' her first proper work of fiction since she ended the 25-year run of her beloved comic strip 'Dykes to Watch Out For' in 2008. Here she is once again her main character, as she was in her graphic memoir 'Fun Home,' but the fictional Alison is the creator of a series called 'Lesbian PETA Members to Watch Out For.' Like the real Bechdel, this one lives in Vermont and is married to a woman named Holly (based on the artist Holly Rae Taylor, who is responsible for the vibrant colors of 'Spent'), but her friends are almost all fictional characters drawn from the cast of 'Dykes.' They're older now than they were when Bechdel last checked in on them, but they remain recognizably themselves as they aspire to thrive in the interregnum years of the covid-19 pandemic and the Biden presidency. Bechdel's return to fiction — even in an autobiographical key — is welcome, not least of all because graphic memoir yielded increasingly diminishing returns for her. 'Are You My Mother?,' her follow up to 'Fun Home,' was a denser book in every way — intellectually, narratively, formally — than its predecessor. Cluttered with lengthy quotations from British psychoanalytic theory across pages sometimes overcrowded with panels, it resembled an endless footnote appended to an already abstruse tome. 'The Secret to Superhuman Strength,' in which Bechdel retold her life story by discussing the kinds of physical exercise she did in different decades — call it a bildungsmuscleroman — aimed for a lighter tone but still overloaded the bar with plates. Both books are really about Bechdel's attempts to follow up 'Fun Home,' which lends them an exhaustingly self-referential tone. 'Spent' satirizes that impulse from the start. The fictional Alison is the author of 'Death and Taxidermy,' a memoir that reimagines the real Bechdel's schoolteacher father as a rogue taxidermist. (An excerpt from the book within the book demonstrates that it looks an awful lot like 'Fun Home,' though its themes are much sillier.) As 'Spent' begins in 2022, an acclaimed television series adapted from 'Death and Taxidermy' is increasingly going off the rails — its own version of the protagonist has just eaten a burger, to the vegetarian Alison's horror. Seeking to reassert herself, Alison is struggling to write her follow-up, '$um: An Accounting,' a book that will, she modestly hopes, 'put the final nail in the coffin of late-stage capitalism.' One problem: She's not entirely sure what 'late-stage capitalism' actually is. Alison's creative frustrations are less the spine of 'Spent' than one recurring gag spilling out of a horn of plenty. With its cast of familiar, aging lesbians, 'Spent' sometimes reads as if Bechdel had relaunched 'Dykes to Watch Out For' in AARP: The Magazine, its story ambling peripatetically between characters and situations. The results are often wry and sometimes raunchy. In one plot strand, a married, barely heterosexual couple from 'Dykes' cautiously opens their relationship to another woman. As things heat up ('Spent' is refreshingly graphic about postmenopausal sex), they settle on the term 'throuple' to describe their arrangement, on the grounds that 'polycule' sounds 'like a skin disorder.' Alison, meanwhile, has to push down jealousy after Holly, who becomes an internet celebrity when a video of her chopping wood goes viral, starts flirting with the alluring veterinarian who keeps stopping by. As Bechdel knows well, queer enclaves in liberal college towns are all alike in their insistence on difference, and she skewers those routine eccentricities as lovingly as ever. When almost all the characters gather for an 'anti-colonial Thanksgiving,' one is delighted to find that the old electric carving knife still works. 'Is that really necessary for Tofurky?' another asks. Alison and Holly are perpetually preoccupied with their finances, but they still spend on groceries with comedic profligacy, partly because they can't imagine going anywhere other than the organic co-op, where three bags of provisions run them $480. Despite its self-reflexive conceits, 'Spent' largely eschews the smirking pomp of metafiction. Yes, the fictional Alison is friends with the real Bechdel's characters, but no one ever comments on that fact — she seems to have simply slid into the place that Mo, her longtime alter ego, occupied in 'Dykes.' Lois, Ginger, Sparrow and the rest are here instead, one senses, as stand-ins for Bechdel's real friends, and the veneer of fiction gives Bechdel that much more permission to go broad as she takes aim at the proclivities of lefty Vermonters, herself included, who long to reclaim their old activist passions but can't quite escape the comforts of Burlington and its environs. Alison's artist's block, similarly, seems to have less to do with Bechdel's own attempts to repeat the triumph of 'Fun Home' than it does with — to put it both earnestly and hyperbolically — the struggle to do anything worthwhile in a dying world. Despite that, Bechdel's visual style is freer and lighter than it has been in years. Panels flow fluidly into one another and occasional splash pages vividly capture the communal tempo of Vermont life at cookouts and farmers markets. Her characters are crisply rendered, but her linework has a slightly wavy quality that imbues her drawings with the improvisatory tone of life as it is lived rather than plot as it is planned. Not much happens, but you don't need it to: The real pleasure of 'Spent' derives from watching its characters go about their lives, and imagining that Bechdel might continue their stories for the rest of her career. To the extent that there is an organizing story here, it is a book about people who need to get over themselves so that they can better look after one another. Holly slips into egomania as she watches her view counts on social media rise and fall, formerly revolutionary parents grapple with the radicalism of the next generation, Alison tries to respect her MAGA-minded sister. Ultimately, the very thing that threatens to grate in 'Spent' — the self-involvement of its characters, Alison in particular — is what makes the book so rewarding. In teasing herself and her friends, Bechdel finds a new way to have fun with both. That attitude, in turn, opens up forms of sweet-minded sincerity, and 'Spent' shines most in fleeting moments when its characters tenderly push one another, often with simple acts of care, to overcome their obsessive impasses and paralyzing dreads. We may not, Bechdel suggests, be able to help ourselves any more than we can save the world, but we can always look after those we love. Jacob Brogan is an editor with Book World. A Comic Novel By Alison Bechdel Mariner. 257 pp. $32
