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Ahhh... a sigh of blissful decompression.  It was a refreshing luxury to escape into something new after a hard week of philosophy and essay exploits.  I just finished reading my first serious graphic novel: Fun Home by Alison Bechdel.  This text, surprisingly, is assigned reading for my Contemporary Literature course and I can't thank my professor enough for selecting such compelling works.

The novel, beautifully written and illustrated by Bechdel, is an autobiographical account of her early childhood to early adulthood.  This poignant coming-of-age story focuses on the death of her father and many other surrounding themes such as sexual discovery, epistemology, and broken homes.  Fun Home is rife with inter-textuality; Bechdel makes boundless parallels to famous literature, political climate, and social change.   In a temporally disjointed fashion, Bechdel puts together the pieces of her interactions with her father in order to reach a rather profound conclusion that I cannot effectively put into words.  This juxtaposition of themes is powerfully executed and I highly recommend this novel to everyone.

It must be read and seen.  It is a graphic novel, after all.

As I read this piece, I felt a certain resonance and truth to it.  Of course there's truth; it's an autobiography.  But it's not a dull, empty autobiography of strict events; her conveyance of the human condition is so brilliantly accomplished that it extends to all facets of life.  I feel a personal truth to the story even though I will never (as far as I know) have to face the adversity and challenge of coming out to the world.  I suppose it came down to the interactions with the father - all the things left unsaid.  You probably have some idea of what I'm talking about but this notion is so eloquently expressed by Bechdel - it's staggering.

Here is one of the minute ways in which I relate to this text:

I wonder about my own father often.  As I was reading this novel, I imagined I was delivering the eulogy at his funeral.  What would I say?  What sums up any unique relationship we had?  Would I talk about some mundane interaction and try to ascribe a deep meaning to it?  I can think of a number of things to say... but would they be absolutely truthful?

Just this afternoon my dad entered my room and noticed my philosophy reader open to "Chapter 12 - Is There a God?"  The following dialogue ensued:

"What's this?"
"Well we're reading about arguments for the existence of god.  We've read Thomas Aquinas and it's quite fascinating because the deductive reasoning is solid."
"So what do you think?  Do you believe it?"
"I... don't know.  I can't really say."

My dad leaves the room without saying anything.  There was no anger, no confusion... nothing.  Just avoidance.

So many things crossed through our minds.  What was I thinking?  What was he thinking?  What was he thinking that I was thinking?  ...And so on.  But there was nothing in our will to communicate these thoughts.  We silently reached a mutual agreement that it would be easier to just leave it alone rather than bring it to light.  My dad can be as religious as he wants but my mind will absolutely not accept the idea of a Christian god.  That is not something I can say to him.

So what would I say about him?  That I acknowledge his lifestyle but I don't internalize it?  I guess that's fair; not everyone has to follow in the footsteps of the father.  I suppose my frustration stems from how little I can connect with him.  And I am frustrated that he can't empathize with me.  Can this incompatibility be overcome?  I certainly hope I find a way.

My mother and I have always been very open and expressive to each other.  But sometimes... just sometimes... my dad and I have a verbal "I love you" moment.

It's almost as if we're afraid to say it.. because we question if we'll get an answer back.