MAUS essay

I wrote this essay for my final paper in an English class last semester. It is about the graphic novel "MAUS: A Survivor's Tale" by Art Spiegelman.

Masks

It seems almost ridiculous to represent one of the most horrific events in history through a comic book; nearly impossible to accurately portray real people as cartoon animals. In doing so, does it not trivialize the reality of human suffering during the Holocaust? I assert quite the opposite. Through a comic book we begin to approach reality. Through animal characterizations we examine human nature. I argue that these masks provide an alternate and arguably better pathway to viewing reality. It is not in spite of masks in MAUS that it is effective; rather, it is because of their use that we grow closer to truth. Spiegelman effectively employs these masks to establish a safe distance, at once both cushioning and distancing us from the devastation of the Holocaust while allowing us to transcend the taboos associated with talking about it.
I argue that this is done in part through the marriage of two unlikely partners: the Holocaust and the comic book. "Perhaps the only way to approach the unrepresentable is to present the impossibility of representing it, turning representation inside out to confront this horrific sublime" assures Michael Sorkin. As a society, we bring certain expectations to comic books. They weave tales of the fantastic and improbable involving superpower-endowed heroes fighting for peace and justice. In the end, the unstained innocent are always spared, the guilty undoubtedly reap what they sow, and good surely triumphs over evil. Spiegelman plays upon these expectations to shelter us from some of the horrors of the Holocaust by employing this medium, in effect representing the unrepresentable. In doing so, he blatantly breaks the unspoken rules, the act of which both shelters us from real horrors and shocks us into seeing a new perspective.
He breaks rules in other ways as well, particularly in representing Jews in the Holocaust. He gives the Holocaust the mask of a comic book and adorns real people with the masks of animals. It is nearly incomprehensible to blame the victims of others' crimes; however, in the example of Jews in the Holocaust, that social expectation has been exaggerated to such an extreme that to acknowledge their humanness borders on blasphemy. By using the guise of animals, Spiegelman addresses this issue and is thus able to involve deeply flawed protagonists who lie, manipulate, and murder. Vladek is no Clark Kent, and certainly not the guileless Anne Frank. Unlike the typical comic book fantasy, the 'good guys' are not angelic figures of virtue, and this story is a reality that does not end with a "happily ever after." Their experience is not something they could just forget if they tried, and in Vladek's case, continues to destroy his life. To a point, he is both unloving and unlovable, enslaving his family in his expectations such as on page 69 where he literally throws away Art's coat because it doesn't suit Vladek's tastes. This outward act- along with several other examples throughout the book- point readers to recognizing yet another facade that Vladek uses (though he is unaware of it) to hide his emotional pain. We can finally approach the reality of human flaws because of our distance. We see new realities through the mask of a comic book.
If seeking truth is the aim in MAUS, we must address the dissimilarities between men and beasts, specifically the rodential kind. How can utilizing animals to tell this story be effective? Does it not propagate the stereotypes we so desperately try to dispel and escape? Spiegelman himself commented that "One doesn't exterminate people, one exterminates rodents, insects, subhumans." Even in the form of a comic book, I argue that the Holocaust drawn with humans as characters would be difficult to stomach. It too closely reflects reality. I believe that Spiegelman chose to portray his and his father's story in this way for this reason. Even though we recognize that MAUS concerns humans- that in essence humans don the masks of cats and mice- on some level we feel safer. It is about animals, so there is not worry about defiling their memory by recognizing their problems... their flaws... their- dare I say it?- humanness. On another level, this metaphor (another kind of mask) not-so-subtly suggests that we as humans often act like animals. In dire circumstances, people resort to the basest of animal instincts: survival.
The effects of using animals in his portrayal is not limited to this. Mice are helpless vermin that we as humans- as predators- hunt to the point of extermination. They are a lesser species after all. Spiegelman prefaces his book with a Hitler quote: "The Jews are undoubtedly a race, but they are not human." He takes Hitler's words quite literally, employing different animal species to represent different human groups. There is an element of bitter sarcasm in his portrayal of humans as cats and mice. He plays off of their relationship as predator and prey; the hunter and the hunted. This separation and relationship reflects the Nazi mentality and helps us understand their paradigm. It is indeed propagated, but to such an extreme point that these masks quickly disintegrate to reveal the humans underneath the whiskers, illustrating the absurdity of typecasting people based on their religion, nationality, or culture.
Although comic books beg simplicity, in MAUS I argue that this hides (or going with my theme, masks) its depth. Critic Hillel Halkin says "All that happens in the comic strip is that one ends up more bound and chained than ever. The division into small boxes limits all utterances to the shortest and pithiest statements, ruling out nearly all verbal subtlety or complexity, while the need to fill each box with a drawing has a similar effect on the illustrations." In typical cases, I agree; however, MAUS is not ordinary in any sense and thus cannot be treated as such. By using comic book form, I argue that Spiegelman frees himself, his story, and his readers from the chains of expectations. He adds depth to the story through illustration that could not be achieved through written word alone, while at the same time utilizing the written word as part of the illustration. He emphasizes words (and images, as will be later discussed) according to their relative size and placement such as on page 52. Simply by making the words "but look what you do Artie" bigger and bolder in context, Spiegelman visually shows the change of tone in Vladek's voice as he quickly snaps from telling a portion of his history to yelling at his son in present day for spilling cigarette ashes on his clean carpet. It intrigues me first that Vladek expresses more gusto and emotion in scolding his son for a harmless mistake than he does in recalling a Nazi guard withholding necessary nutrition for not completing an impossible task, and second that we are visually pointed to this. Spiegelman gives us insight into this specific example through his literal illustration of the written word.
To a similar effect, he emphasizes imagery and communicates to the reader through setting. One of the most striking images appears on page 125 where Anja and Vladek attempt to escape from their increasingly worse situation. The swastika floods the panel, dwarfing them- indeed everything- in comparison. They appear as small and insignificant as frightened little mice. All roads lead to the same end. Like the dying trees and barren landscape, the swastika poisons and eventually destroys all that it touches, leaving nothing but death and misery in its place. Without verbal explanation, we understand the symbolism of all that the picture represents and vividly feel its significance.
Spiegelman additionally communicates emotion through imagery and even the lack of unnecessary words. Though the lack of detail in script and drawing may seem to detract from the emotion of the story, I argue that this is merely a mask that covers its depth and intensity. A fascinating example is found on the very last page. Will Eisner says that "[The employment of body posture and facial expression] can carry the narrative without resorting to any unnecessary props or scenery." Significantly, Art and Vladek are together outside- for the first time- bathed in the light of sunshine. Vladek remembers (or at least finally chooses to reveal) that he destroyed Anja's diaries. Symbolically, Art finally is in the light in regards to his father. As his father contributed to his mother's physical death, he also obliterated her memory as well as any insight into her own "survivor's tale." Art sulks off, unconstrained by a square panel, uttering one isolated word: "Murderer." Spiegelman emphasizes its significance through this visual space- a single word murmured by a defeated man, shoulders bent, moments before involved in his father's life and history, now walking off of the page, bitter and alone. This image elicited a strong emotional response from me that I'm quite sure could not be replicated through written word alone. I was shocked, angry, and upset at first that Vladek destroyed his wife's memory, and then finally that Art refused to forgive him for it. Their relationship was obviously strained, but this final image of loneliness hurt. During the war, people surrounded each other. Their living areas were cramped and devoid of space, but at least they remained together. Spiegelman drew this and I subconsciously came to expect that visual closeness so that when he broke this pattern it made it all the more painful. In ways that could not be replicated in the written word, I felt his loneliness. I literally winced.
Spiegelman physically portrays his characters' humanness in his drawings. They may have mouse heads and long tails, but their physique screams human down to Vladek's spectacles and Art's opposable thumbs. They walk on two feet, their wear clothes, they eat at the table, and they participate in everything human to such a point that in our eyes they become human. Their visual animal masks mentally disappear and in case we missed the hint, Spiegelman shocks the unsuspecting in switching to a comic with humans within the comic; Art's own "Prisoner on Hell Planet." (pg 100-103) Perhaps this gives us a glimpse of what it might have been like had Spiegelman not portrayed his real characters as mice. The story of one woman's death horrified me as it was arguably supposed to. The frame around the page is black, the words clearer in their torment, the facial expressions intense, and the darkness unending. A bleak glimpse of emotional reality.
In contrast, I find a trait of cleanliness in novels. Every word falls nicely in place, ink evenly coats each letter, and paragraphs and pages obey the invisible boxes that structure them. Spiegelman on the other hand draws his own boxes and even then sometimes leaks onto margins or omits a box entirely. He writes his words by hand. I argue that, though subtle, these choices achieve a certain effect that couldn't be accomplished in any other way. "[MAUS is] at one and the same time a novel, a documentary, a memoir, and a comic book" says Jules Feiffer. Because it does not conform to any one set of rules, it cannot be categorized. It is neither a comic book nor a novel, an autobiography nor a biography, complete fact or fiction. We see these discontinuities in the book, but I find that a mere basis. This non-uniformity reflects the story as a whole. It is not like other Holocaust tales, and it doesn't pretend to be.
Through utilizing these masks, Spiegelman frees us from the dominant social paradigm that suggests we simplify both issues and people of the Holocaust. He forces us to look at it in a different way, and in doing so we free ourselves from placing humans in unbending boxes. Because he distances both readers and participants through facades that eventually crumble, he preserves the integrity of his father's story and examines the truth and reality of humanity.

Will Eisner, (Comics and Sequential Art, 2005, p. 111)
Michael Sorkin (Sorkin, 1993, p. 74)
Art Spiegelman (Hirt-Manheimer, 1987, p. 23)
Hillel Halkin ('Inhuman Comedy', Commentary (February 1992) p. 56)