Review of a History of Quebec Comics

Review of a History of Quebec Comics

BDQ: Essays and Interviews on Quebec Comics
Conundrum Press
Edited by Andy Brown

As editor Andy Brown sets out in the foreword of this collection, BDQ refers to Quebec comics or bande dessinée québécoise, just as manga refers to comics from Japan. Unsurprisingly Quebec is unique in terms of its comics culture, which draws heavily on the Franco-Belgian tradition due to the shared language and is also strongly influenced by North American trends, in particular the US underground comix movement of the 1960s and zines in the 1990s. Brown, also the publisher at Conundrum, acknowledges that the collection is only “a smattering” of what is available on Quebec comics. But obviously the featured artists, images and essays, in his view, reflect important moments in BDQ history. The collection is divided into four time periods with the longest section devoted to The Nineties, evidently an ebullient period for sequential art, particularly in Montreal.

“The Early Years” focuses on Quebec comics that were published in newspapers with little or no text. The strips published between 1904 and 1909 were intended for adults and mirrored the social concerns of the day, such as urbanization, the woes of the working poor and the arrival of new Canadians. There is a particularly interesting essay on the style, technique and influences of Albert Chartier in his well-known strip Onésime.

“The Middle Years” takes us to the 1980s and introduces us to artists who include Réal Godbout, the creator of Red Ketchup, and Jimmy Beaulieu, a principled creator who refuses to turn his back on Quebec comics. One of the most interesting pieces in this section is a never before published letter from Julie Delporte to Sylvie Rancourt about the feminist significance of Rancourt’s Mélody and the sensitive intelligence of her work.

The party really gets started in “The Nineties,” and the two reigning stars of this section are underground superhero Henriette Valium and internationally acclaimed comic artist Julie Doucet. But the BDQ community apparently had its cultural clashes. In response to an article penned by Marc Tessier, “The Montreal Comix Scene,” published in a 2005 special edition of The Comics Journal, a group of people took issue with Tessier’s portrayal and let him know, point by point, in Letters to the Editor of The Comics Journal #274 (February 2006). In a previously unpublished essay on Fish Piss, Andy Brown refers to the zine that ran from 1996 to 2006 as truly bilingual. Its comics, essays, poems and stories were published in French and English without translation since its audience was as bilingual as its editor, Louis Rastelli.

The final section, “Modern Times,” introduces comic artists who have had some recent commercial success. It features interviews with the late Geneviève Castrée, Michel Rabagliati, Zviane, and Diane Obomsawin, in addition to essays on the creator of Mile End, Michel Hellman, and the collaborative work of Zviane and Iris in L’hostie d’chat.

This collection is a great primer for anyone interested in graphic novels or sequential art from Quebec. Among the essays, I preferred those that touched on the artist’s approach to stories and their work methods. Editor Brown also did a commendable job of focusing on comics created by women when the BDQ scene has long been dominated by men.

Personally, I found the interview with Henriette Valium unreadable, but I’m nevertheless interested in seeing more work by this apparent iconoclast. Another unsatisfying read was the Roundtable on 1990s Quebec Comics. Although some interesting points were made, the number of participants made it hard to follow. My final criticism was the collection’s very small print.

As the publisher at Conundrum, Brown has a vested interest in the success of BDQ, but it’s also apparent from this collection that he has made an almost selfless commitment to the vibrancy of this community. Conundrum has translated many high-profile Quebec bédéistes, including Michel Rabagliati and his seminal work The Song of Roland, for the English-speaking world to discover. With support like this, we might soon see comics finally recognized as a true art form in Canada.


The review has been cross-posted at the Montreal Review of Books.

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Pots and Pans Protest of Quebec's Bill 78

Pots and Pans Protest of Quebec's Bill 78

Demonstration Tuesday Night

This week in Montreal, residents opposed to the provincial government's Bill 78 took to the streets to protest their loss of civil liberties by banging on pots and pans. Introduced to stop students protesting tuition hikes, this emergency law restricts protests, picketing and the freedom of assembly. As a result of this legislation, all demonstrations with 50 people or more require prior police approval, and failure to comply can result in fines from $1,000 to $5,000 for individuals.

It was soon after that a Facebook group, Les casseroles contre la loi 78, was started. It encouraged residents to assemble each night from 8:00 to 8:15 pm to express their discontent using their choice of metal kitchen implement. This tradition of demonstration, Cacerolazo, hails from Chile and Argentina and was an effective means of protest for people not wanting to leave their homes. As some of you may recall from my previous posts, most demonstrations have started downtown. But how could this draconian law be enforced if there were small pots and pans demonstrations all over the city?

In my neighbourhood of Villeray, people have been meeting at the Jarry-St. Denis intersection. On Tuesday night, joyful, elated demonstrators of all ages waited on the four corners banging on their aluminum salad bowls, woks, turkey basters, pot lids, colanders, double broilers and sauce pains waiting for the light to change.When the light turned green, demonstrators marched across the street and waited on the next corner for the light to change again. Other than some short-lived noise, no law was broken.

Demonstration Wednesday Night

However, on Wednesday night nearly 700 people were arrested in Montreal and Quebec City, which further fueled support for the small neighbourhood casserole demonstrations. Last night, Friday, we went out to the Jarry-St. Denis corner to find the entire intersection crowded with people banging their pots with their favourite kitchen utensils. I must add that the richest sounds are made with a good old wooden spoon. But this time around, people had brought horns, drums, cymbals and were even playing mail boxes and parking signs with drumsticks. But the sound was not chaotic; in fact, everyone worked together to create a definite beat. At 8:30 pm the demonstration headed south up St-Denis street where protesters received enthusiastic encouragement from residents on sidewalks and from a few ensembles on balconies pounding out their own rhythms.

These demonstrations are a wonderful festive way to get together with people in our community whom we might not otherwise meet. Overall, this is a fun, exhilarating means of civil disobedience, and the perfect opportunity to show our children that our rights and freedoms are worth protesting. My nine-year-old was enthralled by the experience and didn't want to stop until we showed her the flashing red police lights at the end of the street and the eerie sight of an empty bus creeping up behind the crowd, the holding vehicle for mass arrests.

Other student demonstration-related posts:
Riotous Super Moon in Quebec
Montreal: 200,000 People Protest


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School Supplies... A Necessity?

School Supplies... A Necessity?

In my previous post on going back to school, I wrote that in Quebec, parents have to buy school supplies for their children. At the same time, parents have to shell out money for text books and school trips. This means that in the third week of August, parents are expected to spend about $200 per child, and that does not include any purchases for clothes.

In response to this post, I received this comment from Fidel Fuentes on my Facebook page:

"The whole thing is a bloody disgrace. Way back when I was living in Ontario I was going to a Catholic School. The school bought all student supplies in bulk. This meant that if I wanted a pencil, note books, art supplies, dictionaries, school books etc., all I had to do was go to the back of the class, open a drawer and take out what I needed. The parents of poor kids didn't have to choose between sending the kids to bed hungry in order to buy school supplies. The whole things makes me sick."

I found this comment indeed humbling. How soon we forget. Both my husband and I were raised by our mothers on limited resources. In my case, my mother would have had to come up with the 1970s equivalent of $400 for me and my brother. What would my mother have done? Like many single mothers, she had a fairly good job, but coming up with that kind of money would have involved saving over a sustained period of time.

I decided to look into what a single working mother could do.

My first stop was the vice-principal at my daughter's school. VP Pierre Lemay told me that coming up with the money for some families was indeed difficult. I asked him if the school accepted donations of unused school supplies from previous years. He said that this would depend on what my daughter's class needed and he directed me to my daughter's teacher. Lemay also told me that there were some area organizations that provided school supplies, but suggested that I phone the CLSC (area healthcare and social services centre), where they would be able to give me further information.

On my lunchhour, I contacted the CLSC social worker, who in turn referred me to
Jeunesse au Soleil or the Sun Youth Organization on St-Urbain St. I spoke with an adviser there who was making up school supply packages to be given out on next Tuesday. However, he did point out that supplies were limited, and that they were strictly for people who used the Sun Youth food bank. I asked him how single-parent families managed.

"It's a dire situation for many. People on social assistance are given extra money for the back-to-school period, but it's not enough," he said. "And there are still a lot of parents not on social assistance who can't afford  school supplies."

One of the other organizations that the Sun Youth adviser referred me to was the Welcome Hall Mission (Mission bon acceuil) in St-Henri. On August 16 and 17 of this year, the organization handed out 2,200 packages of school supplies, footwear and clothing, worth $170,000. In addition, 40 refurbished computers were given away. This is the ninth year running for the WHM's Head Held High event, which is slated as Montreal's largest school supply distribution.

The other referral I received was for Fondation Maman Dion (Celine's mom). This year, the Foundation also gave out 2,200 packages to students in 72 school boards across Quebec. The package includes $200 worth of school supplies from BuroPLUS and a $200 coupon for clothing at L'aubanerie. To be eligible, parents must apply before the April deadline. Applications are reviewed by a selection committee made up of retired teachers.

It's great to see that these organization's exist, but there's one thing that I'm sure would put off a lot of working single parents and low-income families. These are charity organizations that receive funding through corporate and private donations. I believe that many families are still too proud to take handouts, and as my Facebook friend suggested in his comment, some families might cut corners on necessities so that they can buy school supplies. It is indeed a sad state of affairs if an adult earning a living wage cannot afford school supplies for his/her children.

Schools supplies are an essential part of a child's education. So why don't our taxes pay for them?

Furthermore, why are families paying retail prices for school supplies in Quebec when the provincial government can purchase the whole thing in bulk, through a competitive* tender process, at a fraction of the cost?

I'd love to know what you think reader...Should the government pay for school supplies or should parents foot the bill?

*by competitive I mean the best price/quality ratio. This does not mean your friend who owns a chain of office supply stores.

 Related posts
Belle Province Back-to-School
Return of the Angels
Urban Solutions for Greener Surroundings
For the Vegan in You
Multitasker Foils Gentrification
The Lure of Fishing on Bernard



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Belle Province Back-to-School

Belle Province Back-to-School

Sometimes it's the little differences that throw us off, such as our children starting school on August 26 instead of the day after Labour Day. Then there are the other not-so-subtle differences, such as having to pay for your child's school supplies (Grade 3, $45.00), textbooks ($75.00) and school day trips ($30.00) all at the beginning of the year. For those of you who, like me, grew up with school supplies provided by a Board of Education, this may seem unfair. After all, isn't that what our school taxes are for? Then consider this: I pay $1,600 a year (Yes, a year) for an after-school program from 4:00 until 6:00 pm weekdays. Both the $7.00 a-day daycare and after-school programs show that Quebec is ahead of the rest of the country when it comes to families.

Does your child go back to school after Labour Day? Do you have to pay for your child's school supplies? How much does your after-school program cost?

Here's another difference. Take a look at the top left picture, which I took last week in front of my daughter's school. The students (I've blurred their faces) have made placards and are reminding drivers to slow down on Laurier Avenue, the busy street in front of their school. They are chanting the slogan "C'est la rentrée. Ralentissez!" or Slow down! We're back at school. You'll also notice two Montreal policemen in the picture, as well as a parent and a teacher who are standing by. In fact, I was on the other side of the street next to a cop in uniform who was also taking pictures of this mini-demonstration.

Demonstrating or protesting is our right and a sign of a healthy democracy. I'm pleased to see that the children at my daughter's school are being taught the importance of exercising this right. Not only are the students given time to demonstrate (the morning bell has already rung), but they are also backed by the school and police force. Protesting for change is a worthy lesson for children, and a good way to remind area motorists that "We're all late for work!"

Although my view is not shared by everyone, particularly the forces of order at this summer's G20, I think that protests are a useful way to raise awareness and effect change. You'll recall that earlier this summer, I wrote about a group of seniors who were protesting the closure of a borough street for an open-air market, and I was surprised by how organized they were. Not only did they have their placards ready, but they were also handing out leaflets with their laundry list of arguments.

Peaceful demonstration is alive and well in Quebec! Thank goodness.

Related posts

Return of the Angels
Urban Solutions for Greener Surroundings
For the Vegan in You
Multitasker Foils Gentrification
The Lure of Fishing on Bernard


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Alberta: Prairie Sky

Alberta: Prairie Sky

I arrived in Calgary on Tuesday and reconnected with relatives from both sides of my family. I may never have mentioned that both my parents were from Western Canada. On Wednesday, I drove to the tiny town of Viking, the home of the famous hockey-playing Sutter brothers, the birthplace of my mother and the cemetery where we were going to bury her ashes.Tiny prairie towns look very different from those in Quebec and Ontario.The main streets are much wider, and there's a noticeable absence of brick on store fronts.

Alberta has many coulees, or small valleys, and sloughs, which are shallow pools of water that reflect the deep blue of the sky. The countryside is punctuated with oil wells, abandoned homesteads (See picture below), farm equipment and a lot of modern Cargill grain elevators.  I also saw a lot of horses, buffalo and deer, obviously on farms. But let's get to the heart of the matter. About 80% of what you see on the prairies is sky, a spectacular panoramic sky. As we drove further east towards Saskatchewan, the terrain became flatter, and the clouds seemed to travel at the same speed, giving the impression that we weren't moving forward. This frozen-in-space feeling explains why the drive across Canada seems endless when you hit the prairies. I told this to my uncle.

"After a few hours of driving on flat prairie, you want to get out and push up and down on the bumper of the car,"  he said.
"Sorry?" I said, every bit the daft Easterner.
"To make sure that something is moving," he said with a laugh.
I walked away scratching my head.

Today, we are going to the Badlands, about an hour and a half east of Calgary, where the prairie opens up into canyons.

Related posts:
Prairie towns
The Badlands



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Mom's Day: Why Did Your Mom Leave Her Parents' Home?

Mom's Day: Why Did Your Mom Leave Her Parents' Home?

As many of you know, I lost my mother in August last year, and although I would like to dedicate this post to her, I'm still not up to it yet. Instead, I have decided to honour all mothers, starting with my mother-in-law, Imelda, the cherished grandmother of my two children.

Curious about Imelda's arrival in Montreal, I sent her some questions and asked for some pictures from that period of her life. She managed to get all this to me in time for Mother's Day, which she is spending at a watercolour exhibition where she is showing four of her paintings. (Pssst, she even sold one.)

(To help you better imagine Imelda's trip, click on the links for photos of each location.)

Imelda came to Montreal in September of 1958, shortly before her 18th birthday. She climbed into a car with her older sister Denyse, who was going to Montreal to work as a teacher. Also aboard was another young man who lived in the same parish.The second youngest of eight children, Imelda left Saint-Malachie at age 16 for Quebec City, where she found employment with the Bergerons' caring for their three small children, a family with whom she is still friends today.

It was the better wages of the big city that lured Imelda to Montreal. The trip from Quebec City was apparently a long one, as Highway 20 had not yet been built. The three had to travel through all the villages and towns along the way, and presumably the roads of the late fifties had more than a few potholes. However, this didn't slow them down. In fact, I learned that the speed limit was not the 100 km/h (60 mph) that it is today. The speed demons of yesteryear used to travel, in her words facilement or easily, at 160 km/h (100 mph), if not faster.

The three came into Montreal on the Jacques Cartier Bridge at night. Imelda said that she was taken aback by all the lights and buildings. For those of you unfamiliar with Montreal, this route gives perhaps the most spectacular view of the city, particularly at night. For this young country girl far from home, the experience of driving into the city's lights made her feel both overwhelmed and frightened. She immediately questioned her decision to leave Quebec City.

Imelda and Denyse stayed briefly with Denyse's future brother-in-law. Not wanting to impose, Imelda quickly found a job in the want ads, caring for the children of Jeanine Beaubien, an actor and director  of the Île Ste-Hélène theatre. Her employment, however, did not last long, as she found Ms. Beaubien nervous and difficult to work for. She eventually found employment with the Grattons', a very warm and loving family with five children. She even went to Wells, Maine, with them.On the left, you see our bathing beauty on the beach at Wells. Imelda was very fashion conscious and liked to look good when she was out in Montreal. At the time, women wore dresses that were fitted at the waist, long full skirts that fell below the knee and extremely uncomfortable pumps.

Imelda said that she eventually got used to taking the bus in the city, but always with some trepidation of getting lost on the way to visit her sister each week. My mother-in-law was apprehensive about the future, unsure of what life had in store for her. But then, women were not expected to have ambitions: they were expected to get married and have children, which she did a few years later, and man, am I glad that she did.

Why did your mother leave her parents' home? For a husband? A job? Or her sanity?


PS, Wells is also my favourite family vacation destination.

Happy Mother's Day to mothers everywhere!

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An "A" For Sexual Assault Awareness Campaign

An "A" For Sexual Assault Awareness Campaign

As many of you know, April is sexual assault awareness month. This year the Quebec government has released a very poignant  TV and Web advertising campaign. In this series, the victim speaks directly to the camera and addresses her attacker, referring to the exact moment of her assault. In the TV ad on the left, the victim states,

"It's been 32 years, 6 months and 1 week, since you assaulted me....I will never forget your face."

On the Sexual Assault website and in the web ads, the time is given in years, months, weeks, days, minutes and even seconds, making it abundantly clear that this traumatic event is never forgotten (See photo bottom right.).

What I found particularly innovative about this campaign is that the government also features men as victims of sexual assault, and although male victims recounting their ordeals have yet to be televised, their stories are nevertheless on the website. In addition, the government has featured individuals of different ages, but unfortunately, we see just one woman of colour. At the top centre of the website, you will also find a quick exit button and instructions on how to erase your Internet history from your browser for individuals who fear retribution. This is a very comprehensive bilingual site that provides a definition and the different forms of sexual assault (worth reading), the signs that a sexual assault victim might exhibit, advice for victims, recent statistics and further assistance resources.

As I went through the statistics, I was struck by how little I knew about sexual assault and how much television, specifically CSI and Law and Order, had coloured my view. The following are the statistics that I found the most telling:

Sexual assault is the least reported crime
34% of sexual offences registered in 2008 were reported to police the same day they were committed, while 20% were reported over a year after being committed.

83% of the victims were women: 53% were girls under the age of 18; 30% were adult women; 15% were young boys under the age of 18; and 2% were adult men.

68% of victims were under the age of 18.

69% were assaulted in private homes: 39% lived in the same residence as the perpetrator.

81% of victims knew their perpetrators: 27% were mere acquaintances.

98% of perpetrators were men: the highest percentage were in the 12 to 17 age group (21%) and the 35 to 44 age group (21%). Don't be fooled by Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. Rape by women is evidently very rare or rarely reported.

The website also points out that sexual assault perpetrators are generally people of sound mind. Also, men who sexually assault young boys are not necessarily homosexual.

If the government had featured more people of colour in its ads and had made it more Web 2.0 friendly, ie, included a share button and posted these ads on YouTube, I would have given the GoQ an "A+" Nevertheless, I encourage you to visit the site. The actors' performances are very moving.

Source:
Government of Quebec Sexual Assault website

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A True Cottage Caper

A True Cottage Caper

(The following is a true story, but also an assignment in an online intense, intensive course called Method Writing given by Jordan Rosenfeld. The object of this assignment was to make the reader feel uneasy. Please let me know if I succeeded.)

After my mother's funeral last summer, we headed back to our rented cottage several miles outside the tiny Quebec municipality of Mandeville in the Lanaudiere Region. We were relieved to get off the highway and travel through the rolling hills on the shores of the Maskinonge River. We were in dire need of some rest and relaxation, and our kids needed to be outside instead of cooped up in hotel rooms and waiting in hospitals.

As we turned down the last stretch of dirt road leading to our cottage, we saw a large group of young men between the ages of 16 and 19 coming down a trail and onto the shoulder of the road. As we passed, I saw my husband glance into the rearview mirror for a better look.

"That does not look good," he said.
"Why not?" I asked. "It just looks like a group of kids on holiday."
"They look a bit old for summer camp," my husband replied.

We continued a little bit further until we arrived at our cottage.It felt wonderful to be at our destination and relax. The purple phlox had bloomed while we were away, and the calmness of the pond made everything seem peaceful. As our children ran around outside, happy to finally stretch their legs, we unpacked the car. Half-watching the kids, I saw my husband try to unlock the door, but mysteriously, it was unlocked. I then saw him bend over and pick up a bread knife between the doors. He walked into the cottage and emerged a few minutes later.

"Someone's been in there," he said when he came out.
I could feel dread in the pit of my stomach."I really don't need this," I said.
"I know," he said."My feelings exactly."

We got the kids, and we went into the house to check if anything was missing. As I walked into the house, I had the eerie feeling that strangers had indeed been there. I remembered my father's girlfriend, Shelley, telling me what it felt like after their house had been broken into, cringing at the thought that someone had gone through her personal belongings. I also remembered her saying that it had taken months before they realized all the things that had been stolen.


"If anything is missing, our homeowner's insurance will cover it, but we'll have to file a police report," I said.

I sat with my kids in the living room, while my husband called the police. It was very unsettling to think that someone had broken into the cottage. It made me feel anxious and unable to sit still. But how could someone break in with a bread knife, particularly one that came from inside the cottage. It didn't make sense. Even stranger, the lock had not been broken and showed no signs of tampering.

My husband came back. He'd spoken with the police who instructed him to contact the owner. He called the owner and learned that neither she, nor anyone else she knew, would have gone into the cottage while it was rented. My husband also asked if there was anything of any value in the cottage that could have been stolen. Apparently, the only thing of any value was the TV and satellite system, both of which were still there. By this time, I'd checked all our valuables, and we had taken them all with us.

As the day wore on, we tried to remember if we had taken the bread knife out of the kitchen for any reason on the day we left. If I'd needed to cut something, I would have used scissors, not a knife, let alone a bread knife. Anyway, I would have put the knife back and not left it between the two doors. But what about the unlocked door? Were we in such a hurry to get to the hospital that we forgot to lock it?

By nightfall, we started to assume that we'd forgotten to lock the door. We couldn't explain the bread knife, but we decided to forget about the whole thing and get on with our holiday. Sleep, however, was not to be had that night. Our neighbours, as we discovered, were the group of 16 to 19 year olds we'd seen on the road the day before, and they kept us up most of the night.

We left early the next morning for the beach. My children were dying for a swim in Lac Maskinonge. After some beach fun, we headed back to the cottage. When we walked through the door, I again had the distinct feeling that someone had been there, but I said nothing. We were just settling in to watch a movie when we heard someone calling from outside the cottage. The accent sounded like someone from Montreal, but there was a hint of something else. My husband and daughter went out to see who it was. A few minutes later, my daughter came running back into the house.

"Who was it, honey?" I asked.
"A really big man, and he had your computers," she said.
"What!?"

My husband walked through the door a few minutes later with our computers.
"Well, it looks like the party animals are also a bunch of juvenile delinquents. We're going to have to check our things to see if they stole anything else."
"What kind of delinquents are we talking here? Violent offenders who are too young to prosecute or neighbourhood vandals?"
"I'm not sure. The co-ordinator just said that they were 'at risk' youth."

After looking through our stuff, we discovered that our DVD player was missing. Our anger was building. How were we supposed to be on holiday with a bunch of "at risk" youth next door who'd already broken in at least once, but probably twice?

In the meantime, my husband had called the owner who was going to report the neighbouring cottage owner to the municipality. In order to house at risk youth or delinquents, cottage owners had to obtain a special permit, something she was sure the owner didn't have.

We were in a very uncomfortable situation. We'd spent a lot of money to rent this cottage, but for reasons beyond our control, we hadn't been able to use it. When we finally could spend some time there, we were getting broken into whenever we left. If we were heartless, we could just call the police. But we wondered if pressing charges would teach these boys a lesson or just turn them into criminals. Even though they returned some of the things they stole, they hadn't returned it all. Someone who was truly repentant, we reasoned, would return everything. Clearly, they had learned nothing from this and would probably be back.

What would you have done reader? Would you have called the police?

With a full head of steam, my husband marched over to retrieve our DVD player. A few moments later, I could hear his loud, but controlled voice. After 10 minutes, he emerged from the woods with our DVD player and some DVDs that we hadn't even noticed were missing. When he came in, I asked him what he said.

He told the co-ordinator that we wanted all our stuff back and that he wanted to speak directly to the pair who'd broken in. When he had both of them in front of him, he told them that it was too bad that two people had to ruin everyone's holidays, theirs and ours. He added that we were still debating whether to call the police and press charges. Clearly, by not returning all our things, they were not sorry for what they did. Afraid for his job, the co-ordinator then jumped in and announced that the entire group was leaving the next morning.

My husband was still sweating and angry when he retold the story, but I could see that he was as relieved as I was that they
were leaving.
"I guess my mother was looking out for us," I said.
"Someone was. It's rare that you ever get stolen items back, and it's even rarer to have the chance to tell the thieves what you think of them to their face."
"I wonder if you're T-shirt drove the message home to those two?"
My husband looked down at his shirt, and we both laughed.
On his blue T-shirt, NEVER WRONG was written in large navy letters.

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