Four-Eyes

My visit to Oberlin earlier this month was the first time I had been back to the campus since late 2000, and the first extended stay since my ten-year reunion back in 1998. As with all things, much had changed in the school and surrounding town, though at heart the Oberlin experience remains the same: happily, it’s still a tiny, politically progressive, hippie-oriented enclave in a bucolic northern Ohio setting.

The most striking difference between then and now is how much the town of Oberlin has evolved to cater to the college. When I was a student there in the late 1980s, the only places to eat in town were the Campus Diner, Lorenzo’s (a divey pizza & beer joint), the Tap House (which specialized in greasy bar food and cheap pitchers), the Oberlin Inn (which was too pricey for most students’ budgets), and Rax (a local roast beef chain). Right near the end of my time, a Subway franchise opened on Main Street, but that hardly counts.

Other places in town were Gibson’s Food Market & Grocery, a thrift store, a record store, the Co-op Bookstore, the Apollo Theatre, the Ben Franklin five-and-dime, a pharmacy, a couple of banks, a hardware store, a bike store, a copy shop, and an Army-Navy store. Of all those, only Gibson’s, the thrift store, and the record store could’ve been said to focus on student business; for the most part the “city” of Oberlin (pop. c. 10,000) seemed very resolutely an entity of its own, geared toward the local, non-student populace. Nonetheless, I never felt a lack: I was happy to scarf down a Mr. Fred or an Obie-burger at the Campus Diner; a thick-crusted, cheesy pizza at Lorenzo’s; or a chicken sandwich at Rax. And most of my life revolved around the campus itself.

Now there are all sorts of cafes and restaurants whose sole purpose is to cater to students: hippie diners, Asian fusion restaurants, upscale yuppie cuisine, a burrito joint, an ice cream shop, a Chinese eaterie, the list goes on. And Gibson’s has gotten truly baroque in its accommodation to the student munchies crowd: their main features seem to be chocolate-covered bacon and orange peels, and racks and racks of booze .(Up until the early 1990s, Oberlin was a dry town, with only beer allowed to be sold — except at the Oberlin Inn, which had some sort of special dispensation to sell hard liquor.)

And then there are the other places so foreign to my Oberlin experience: New Age trinket stores, yoga studios, hair salons, and even a comics store (albeit sparsely stocked and darkly lit). The strangest thing, though, is the absence of the Campus Diner. I always thought of that place as the center of Oberlin, the one place in town where college and town really mixed. It’s just weird to me that that place is gone. The absence of Campus, along with the Tap House and Rax being gone really makes me wonder how welcome Oberlin’s “townies” now feel in their own community. My guess, however, is that economic realities set the tone for these changes, and that the old establishments just couldn’t afford to stay in business. And it’s nice to know that a number of the new establishments are owned and operated by ex-Obies (who apparently just couldn’t bear to leave town after graduation). But I had been really looking forward a Mr. Fred! Grrr...

The Co-op Bookstore is gone too, a victim of over-building, replaced by a Barnes & Noble franchise. There’s also a used bookstore which shares space with the Ben Franklin. And the aforementioned comics store, which seems to be wasting its potential (though they were kind enough to supply books for my signing Saturday afternoon). I liked the selection of comics they had on hand — mostly alternative fare and Vertigo books — but it seemed like there was only one copy of each title on hand, and most of them were sealed in plastic (I guess to prevent browsing). The effect was less than welcoming. In addition, the store’s window displays were entirely bare, except for some faded posters of long-completed Marvel and DC “event” comics. Not even a couple of current alt-comix enticements, like, say, the recently published nonfiction graphic novel of a returning alum (hint, hint).

I was so happy to see the Apollo Theatre functioning, still showing its weekly quota of scratched first-run movies. Erik Inglis told me the college had recently bought the floundering theatre, and had plans to keep it going while also integrating the school’s film program into the upstairs offices. (The newest Oberlin Alumni Magazine has a feature about the whole affair.) Some of my best movie-going experiences took place at the Apollo: whether the movies were enduring classics or 80s drek, I’ll never forget seeing films like Aliens, Die Hard, Back to the Future Part II, Rocky IV, The Color Purple, The Wall, Eddie Murphy: Raw, Wildcats, or The Accused at the Apollo.

Changes on the Oberlin campus itself seemed mostly for the good. I really dug the way they’ve re-imagined the first floor of Mudd Library, with an array of free computers, a new books area, and a café. I enjoyed a quick visit to the old computer center, which now features a computer supply store, and an entrance decorated with a display of vintage 1980s and ‘90s computers — the very ones I used to spend so much time on during my student days. Otherwise, it was comforting to sit in one of Mudd’s enduring “womb chairs” and just to stroll through the library’s stacks, remembering that books are still integral to the college experience, and that to really learn and understand a topic you still need to immerse yourself in a book. Wikipedia is not the answer to all of life’s questions!

It was also fun to wander through Wilder, past the mailroom, the Rath, and the ‘Sco. I even picked up a copy of the Oberlin Review, still publishing — on paper, no less. It was both comforting and a little disappointing to see how little the Review had changed, however: still dry as dust and self-serious. (Though I did enjoy reading the “Review Security Notebook,” always one of my favorite features back during my student days.)

The new buildings on campus were all fine — I like the way the new science center wraps around the old one — but one of the best moments of our visit was the gorgeous fall afternoon when Sari, Phoebe, and I strolled around the whole campus, admiring some of the classic buildings: Peters Hall, Talcott, Keep, the art museum, and even dorms like Burton. On the other hand, Dascomb is still a pit. I took Phoebe on a tour down my old hallway (I lived in the same room in Dascomb my first two years at Oberlin) and passed my old room. It still smells the same — like feet! Phoebe seemed trepidatious. I was too. Maybe it’s time to demolish the place? (I think South’s time is over as well.)

The whole experience, combined with my “official” visit as a returning alum, was a pulsating mix of old and new, where I often felt myself caught between two temporal realities, past and present. But as long as the painted rocks remain in Tappan Square, Oberlin will always be home to me.

Some New Kind of Slaughter: Lost in the Flood (and How We Found Home Again): Diluvian Myths from Around The World, from Archaia Studios Press, is now out. Given my connection to a certain diluvian story, creators A. David Lewis & mpMann asked me to write the foreword to the book, which I did. Here it is:

For me, it all began with the 2004 Asian tsunami. Horrified by the huge loss of life, I was also fascinated by the imagery, by the idea that life-giving water could bring such epic death and destruction. I remember trolling the Internet for video from the tsunami, watching YouTube clips over and over again. What was most mesmerizing about what I saw was not that the water came in crashing waves, but rather that it seemed to surge from below, to inexorably grow deeper and deeper, like some nightmare from which you couldn’t wake. And that was exactly it — the tsunami, the flooding, the very themes of water and drowning, were like dreams, a nightmare millions of helpless people shared that late-December night in 2004.

Less than a year later, when Hurricane Katrina struck the U.S. Gulf Coast, I experienced the same morbid fascination with the storm surge and the flooding of New Orleans. This time, however, I was moved to action. For whatever reason, I woke from my waterlogged reverie and volunteered with the Red Cross. Almost before I knew it, I was in the Gulf Coast, providing emergency relief to those left behind. Walking through the rubble of Biloxi, Mississippi, and listening to the clients’ survival stories made the experience all too real, but the rising waters still haunted my dreams. Perhaps they always will.

So for me at least, mpMann and A. David Lewis’s Some New Kind of Slaughter is especially resonant. Mainly through the visions of the ancient Sumerian king Ziusudra, adrift on his great ark, Mann and Lewis take the reader on a dreamlike tour through the world’s great flood myths. From Babylonia to the Nile Delta, from the Chinese tales of Da Yu to the Native American Menomines, and from modern-day eco-warriors to the Old Testament, we see how these disparate creation and destruction myths share themes of divine punishment, visionary pariahs, and… turtles? Even the familiar story of Noah comes to life in unexpected ways.

Humor leavens the tales. The ancient stories, cultures, and names go down easy via Lewis’s characters’ naturalistic, witty dialogue. And Mann’s beautiful, painterly art completely meshes with the story. The expert weaving of word and image is augmented by the landscape-style alignment of the pages, a device that would seem gimmicky in other contexts, but here reinforces the hallucinatory narrative.

Reading this book reminded me of my youthful backpacking days. Traveling through Southeast Asia and Central Europe, I read author Gore Vidal’s series of historical novels tracing the exploits of one family through American history. Completely captivated by Vidal’s unique vision and his gleeful assault on our cultural myths, when I returned home I sought out the primary sources, reading up on events I hadn’t thought about since high school. I thoroughly enjoyed that journey, and will always be grateful to Vidal for his expert use of the art of fiction to teach fact. Some New Kind of Slaughter does the exact same thing.

The human instinct to tell stories — to make sense of the senseless, to impose order on what seems like the capricious whims of nature — is timeless. What began with poems around a fire, or ancient symbols on cracked parchment, comes to us now in the form of viral video and the pages of the graphic novel. Like a dream shared across cultures and history, Some New Kind of Slaughter ties our modern present to the ancient and/or biblical past. It is a triumphant demonstration that the graphic novel may be the future’s best teaching tool.

The discovery of water on the Moon proves that Tintin-creator Hergé was not only a comics genius but a scientific genius as well. Check out this panel from Explorers on the Moon, published in 1954 — over fifty years before this latest discovery (and fifteen years before the first human being actually set foot on the Moon).



I remember, reading this book in the 1970s and 1980s, scoffing at the silly belief that there was ever water on the "dead" lunar sphere. Who's laughing now?

This weekend Sari & I will be in Miami for the Miami Book Fair International! Besides enjoying the warm weather, partying by the water, and hopefully meeting A.D. readers, I will be taking part in two panels on Saturday, November 14. And Sari will be joining me for one! To whit:

11:30 a.m., Centre Gallery, Rm. 1365 (Bldg. 1)
A Conversation with Dan Goldman (08: A Graphic Diary of the Campaign Trail), Josh Neufeld (A.D. After the Deluge) and Joshua Dysart (Unknown Soldier). We'll be presenting our work, conducting a group Q&A, and signing books.

2:00–3:00 p.m., Kids' Comic-Con (on NE 1st Ave., in front of Bldg. 1)
How to Create Your Own Mini-Comic in 45 Minutes or Less
Have you ever wanted to create your own comic? Or have you ever been faced with nothing to do on a rainy day (although we realize that doesn't happen very much in Miami)? Come to this workshop and discover how easy and fun it is to make your very own self-published comic book! (Taught by: Josh Neufeld, author and illustrator of the critically acclaimed graphic novel A.D.: New Orleans After the Deluge; Sari Wilson, a creative writing educator with New York City's Teachers and Writers Collaborative; and Janna Morishima, director of the Kids Group at Diamond Book Distributors).

The book fair is being held at the Wolfson campus of Miami Dade College, around the intersection of NE 1st Ave & NE 5th St. in Miami. See you there!

In honor of Indie Bookstore Week, I was asked to say a few words about the importance of indie bookstores at last night's kick-off party, held at powerHouse Arena in DUMBO, Brooklyn.

My experience with independent retailers started in the comics world. As a young self-publisher, I took my photocopied mini-comics and zines to stores like See Hear, St. Mark’s Comics, and Jim Hanley’s Universe. They would often buy the books outright at a 50% split or do it on a consignment basis. Those stores were totally welcoming to an upstart like myself, and even had special places on their racks for the kind of stuff I was doing. It meant so much to know that these stores cared enough to support young creative types with stories to tell. And of course the fact that those stores supported my work made me that much more curious about what other comics they carried. As a reader, I was turned on to many new artists and books by such independent-minded stores.

Later, when I self-published A Few Perfect Hours, I was welcomed by stores like JigSaw (now sadly closed) and Book Court, which not only agreed to sell the books but even arranged an event, where I showed a PowerPoint presentation of some stories from the book, read the stories aloud, and had a signing.

And now with my new graphic novel, A.D.: New Orleans After the Deluge, even though I’m being published by a “major” publisher, Pantheon is completely dedicated to supporting independent retailers. On my book tour, I had great events at Book People in Austin, Octavia Books in New Orleans, the Book Cellar in Chicago, and Brookline Booksmith in Boston.

And I’ve had a number of events in New York — all taking place in independent bookshops: Idlewild Books, McNally Jackson, Book Court, and right here at Powerhouse Arena. Not to mention the new comics retailer Bergen Street Comics, which is modeled very much on the mold of a bookstore rather than that of the traditional dark and stinky comic book store.

One thing I’ve really come to appreciate on this tour through the country’s top independent retailers is how responsive they are to their local community. And how real communities actually form around the stores. The fact that so many stores nowadays feature cafes and hold really interesting readings and events really helps. For the most part, you don’t get that sense in Barnes & Noble’s, Borders, and — obviously — Amazon. (For instance, because of some corporate decision, A.D. is only available in the “History of Louisiana” section in Barnes & Noble’s — who even knew there was a “History of Louisiana” section?! — and not with the other graphic novels. And the Border’s in midtown doesn’t have my book at all, because they only seem to stock superhero trades.

And it seems to me at least that the economic model of the indie bookstore is working, with new local stores opening up all over the place, like Unnameable Books and Greenlight Books, both in my neighborhood — while the big chain stores seem to be slipping fast.

Most of all, I feel like each of the independent stores I’ve been to are reflections of the quirkiness of the owner and the store employees. From the minute you step inside, you get the sense how much the people who run these places just love books.

That was the subject line of the email I got from Erik Inglis, Oberlin professor of medieval art and a fellow Oberlin art history grad from the class of ’89. He had seen the August New York Times piece on A.D., and dropped me a congratulatory email. One thing quickly led to another and soon enough I had been officially invited back to Oberlin to present A.D. to the school. The fact that Kwame, one of A.D.’s characters, is also a student at Oberlin, and was willing to take part in the presentation, added to the allure.

We settled on this past weekend, November 6–8, Parents’ Weekend 2009. Since Sari is an Oberlin grad too, it seemed appropriate for us to go as a family — Phoebe too! So last Friday we all jumped on a commuter flight to Cleveland for a fun-filled three days back in the corn fields of Ohio.

The “official” part of the trip went really well. Erik kindly picked us up at the airport and drove us into town and to our room at the Oberlin Inn. He had to leave to teach a class — likely excuse! — but we sauntered over to the new (to me) crunchy Black River Café to meet Danielle Young, the Alumni Association executive director, and her protégé Liz Weinstein. We had a pleasant lunch, and were encouraged to reminisce about old times for a recorded interview. Danielle & Liz also presented us with an official Oberlin alumni mug and some other assorted goodies.

With all the Parents Weekend events going on, I was a bit nervous about how well-attended Saturday’s 3pm presentation would go, but I was elated by the turnout. At least 75 people — parents, students, and even some faculty — turned out for the event, in the Hallock Auditorium of the new(ish) Adam Joseph Lewis Center for Environmental Studies. (A little shout-out to my buddy Mark “Stinky” Rusitzky, who worked as an architect on the building and served as the liaison during its construction. Mark, a Connecticut College graduate, has spent more time in Oberlin than I have in the last decade!)

After my slideshow, I sat down with Kwame and African-American Studies chair Caroline Jackson-Smith to talk about the project, Kwame’s involvement, and to take questions from the audience. The crowd seemed really engaged, and there were some great questions and comments. Professor Jackson-Smith was terrific, with a real respect for the comics form even though it was one of her first experiences with it. And Kwame was amazing, closing the event with a wonderful, eloquent summation of where New Orleans is now, and how he plans to fit in there once he finishes his academic career. I was so proud of him, and also in awe of his poise and strength of character. Once again, I was reminded what an amazing group of human beings I’ve been lucky enough to get to know though this project.

After the event, Kwame & I sat down in the lobby to sign copies of A.D., which people had quickly bought up all the copies provided for by Infinite Monkey (the new comics retailer in town). It was an odd experience sitting there signing copies for Oberlin students and parents, feeling somehow caught in between those two realities. I know one end of that experience — maybe someday I’ll know the other. I must admit I felt a certain pride, sitting there as a returning alumni, actually invited back by the institutional powers-that-be.

That evening Erik had us over to his E. College house for delicious home-made pizza by his wife Heather. Also there was Anne Trubek, another Oberlin alum of our era (who makes a great apple crumble!) And Phoebe got to marvel at the antics of the three boys (two 10-year-olds and one six-year-old) running rampant in the house. A good time was had by all, and Erik and I refrained from too much teary-eyed reminiscences of those two years we shared at Dascomb.I loved what Erik said about why he loves studying medieval art: "There's so much we just don't know! I would hate to teach modern art — we know what Manet had for breakfast every day of his adult life! On the other hand, I would hate to teach ancient art. We don't know anything! Medieval art is just the right balance of what we know and what we have to use our imagination for."

Sunday was a free day before our 5 pm flight, and Sari, Phoebe & I mostly spent it strolling around the Oberlin campus, visiting the museum, and admiring and kicking the fall leaves. It was comforting to hear the chants of protesters ringing through trees of Tappan Square, though we didn’t get there in time to find out what the protest was actually about before they had moved on. We also got a giant chuckle from the sight of a bedraggled group of Obie kids attempting to stage an earthbound game of Muggle Quidditch on Wilder Bowl, with broomsticks and everything. Ah, Oberlin!

Next time: Oberlin then and now

Like father like daughter...

The Super Neufelds wish you a happy Hallowe'en!

I'm excited to announce that A.D. will be translated into Dutch! The upstart publisher De Vliegende Hollander (The Flying Dutchman) is going to be releasing A.D. in The Netherlands some time next year. (They have also done Dutch translations of Watchmen, V for Vendetta, Y the Last Man, Stitches, and Logicomix, among others, so I'm in good company.) 

I find it only fitting that an Amsterdam-based publisher would relate to my story of broken levees and flooded cities: in 1953 the Netherlands was flooded when the dikes protecting the southwest of the country were breached by the joint onslaught of hurricane-force winds and exceptionally high spring tides. The flood came in the night without warning, killing 1,835 people. Their very own Katrina... 50 years earlier.

If you happen to be in beautiful Portland, Oregon, this weekend, please come to the Wordstock Literary Festival. I will be appearing at Wordstock on Saturday, Oct. 10, @ 1pm, alongside Laurie Sandell (The Imposter's Daughter), to share our work via slideshows, do a Q&A, and sign books.

And check out this humorous and clever Wordstock viral video.

Paula L. Woods just posted a review of A.D. on The Defenders Online, the blog of the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund. I was pleased to see her piece focusing on aspects of the book that many other reviewers have overlooked: the warmth of Abbas and Darnell's friendship; the sadness and pessimism Leo felt when he first returned home to rebuild; the fulfilment Denise found when she began counseling battered women hurricane survivors. To my mind, Ms. Woods' piece is one of the more thoughtful discussions of A.D. so far.

[Continuing my run-down of the A.D. book tour...]

I took A.D. to the Boston area September 8 and 9, my first experience on the Bolt Bus (very cheap, very pleasant). My ol' pal (and Beastles collaborator) dj BC (Bob Cronin) was kind enough to host me in his Somerville abode, where I got to hang a bit with his awesome, feisty wife Stacey and their adorable daughter Stella.

My first event was Tuesday night at Brookline Booksmith, a large, extensive store devoted to new and used books. I did my presentation in front of a good crowd of about 30 folks, which included a motley group of characters from various stages in my life, going all the way back to junior high school! It was wonderful catching up with Chris, George, Pete, and A. Dave, as well as fielding questions and signing books for a very engaged group. The best moment of the night was when a girl in the audience, just starting college in Boston after moving up from New Orleans, realized she personally knew Kwame, one of A.D.'s characters!

The next day I was scheduled for a late afternoon signing at one of my favorite comics retailers, The Million Year Picnic, operated by the sweetest man in comics, Tony Davis. Beforehand, I had the privilege of getting to see my favorite cousin, Lauren, who took time off work to come into the Harvard area to have lunch with me. I've known her since she was a baby, and it's so great to see how well she's doing and hear about her wonderful, growing family. Before heading over to The Picnic, Lauren and I passed The Globe Corner Bookstore, which had recently posted a kind review of A.D. on their blog and was featuring A.D. on their shelves.

It was a bit of a slow day at MYP, since the new comics were delayed due to the previous Monday's Labor Day holiday, but Tony and his employee Anthony kept me engaged and entertained throughout the two-hour signing session. And it turned out that Tony has many family connections to NOLA, and just happened to get stuck in the city in late August 2005 right before Katrina struck. (He made it out of town just in time, and was able to fly back to Boston from Baton Rouge before the shizzle hit the fizzle.)

The signing done, I threw my pens into my case, slung my bag over my shoulder and headed back to South Station. The Bolt Bus delivered me back safely into the welcoming arms of NYC and I made it home before midnight. Not a bad two-day jaunt to Beantown.

Sean Kleefeld of Graphic Novel Review weighs in on whether the expanded, revised, print edition of A.D. is worth buying if you've already read the (free) webcomic. The verdict? "Yes. Neufeld’s gone back and reworked some sequences, making the story flow smoother. He’s also reformatted the whole thing with a running calendar to better show readers when they are in the story. The colors work much better on the printed page, as well, and many of the sequences have been recolored accordingly. You can go to the site and read the story for yourself, and see how well Neufeld handles the basic storytelling. But the printed version does indeed take an already solid story and knock it out of the park."

For a longer discussion of the issue (reflecting the explosion of original comics on the web), see Ada Price's piece in Publishers Weekly, published back in late August.

My first SPX in three years — but by my count, my tenth overall — got off to a great start with the ride down. The four musketeers of JahFurry, Heidi MacDonald, Brian Heater, and Ben McCool added my fifth wheel since Ben was jetting off to England for a fortnight, so Jeff, Heidi, Brian and myself made the rest of the trip after dropping Ben off at Newark. Good times — with lots of cutting people off — were had, including a stop in Baltimore at Atomic Books for the Nerdlinger Awards.

The Awards set a Rip van Winkle tone for me, as I barely knew a soul — or their comic — there, and that carried through for SPX itself. I saw a few familiar faces, of course, like SPX regulars Chris Staros, Jim Dougan, Rob Clough, Mike Rhode, Calvin Reid, Ed Piskor, Rob Ullman, and the Fantagraphics twins; and of course SPX programmers like Karon Flage, Warren Bernard, and Greg Bennett; and even some sporadic returners like myself: R. Sikoryak, Peter Kuper, James Kochalka, John Porcellino, Mike Fiffe, and Kat Roberts, to name a few.

But there were so many ol' pals missing: Dean Haspiel, Nick Bertozzi, Alex Robinson, Tony Consiglio, David Lasky, Mike Dawson, Chris Radtke, Joan Reilly, Jason Little, Gabrielle Bell, Jon Lewis, and Karen Sneider, just off the top of my head. I guess what with book deals, kids, and of course the continuing allure of MoCCA, the drive down to D.C. is losing its appeal for those folks. (I have to confess I stayed away from SPX the last few years because I didn't have anything new to hawk until this year.)

However, despite my sadness at missing so many folks, I have to admit that SPX is alive and well! The great funky/DIY/artsy tradition is still very much in evidence, and the comix tribe is rejuvenated with lots of new blood. That included my tablemates this year, fresh-faced 2009 Xeric winners J.T. Yost and Sophia Wiedeman. I was under strict luggage (and economic) constraints, so I only picked up a few things, but everywhere I looked there were young cartoonists offering tempting delights. I couldn't resist some purchases, of course, and came away with Yost's Old Man Winter, Wiederman's The Deformity, Jeffrey Brown's Funny Misshapen Body, Liz Baillie's My Brain Hurts, Picture Box's crazy oversize Real Deal #1, and a decrepit Robin T-shirt by fellow SPX returning veteran Tom Galambos.

As for my end of the show, A.D. sold respectably, with about 30 copies finding new owners. (I also signed a fair amount of previously purchased books.) I had some great conversations with people connected to the NOLA scene, including a high muckety-muck of the Louisiana Redevelopment Authority. And Gina Gagliano was kind enough to moderate my spotlight panel, where I presented my A.D. slideshow and answered questions about the project.

The only major negative for the show this year was the frigid temperatures inside the room on Sunday. I tend to run hot (body temperature-wise) but even I was shivering. I was pleasantly surprised that my nose didn't fall off due to frostbite, but all the same I think I'm coming down with something: I've been achy and off my game ever since Sunday.

The ride back with Jah, Heidi, and Brian was as fun-filled as the trip down, with the added excitement of seeing how far the car could go with an empty tank of gas and the "Change Oil Soon" light flashing. And did we really almost run down Philip Seymour Hoffman on his bike as we tore through the West Village? Brian swore it was him. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig. *Cough*

[Continuing my run-down of the A.D. book tour...]

My next stop after the NYC book launch was Chicago, Illinois. There was something fitting about coming back to Chicago, as that was where my comics "career" (such as it is) started: it's where I lived when I got my first breaks: The Big Book of Urban Legends, Duplex Planet Illustrated, and American Splendor.

Arriving in Chicago Friday, August 28 (earlier than I would've liked), I was picked up by my literary escort, who was assigned to get me to the WGN-TV studios for a mid-day news segment. The escort was nothing like what I expected: instead of an effete, rumpled, mustachioed man, Bill was a tall, burly, classic Midwesterner who liked nothing better than talking baseball (specifically the White Sox). He drove me over to the studios where I taped a quick segment on the book. Things went well, but it's hard for me to watch the tape; they say the camera adds ten pounds, but the way I was slumped back in my chair added at least another ten. Ugh.

The event that night was at the Book Cellar, in Lincoln Park. I'd heard a lot of great things about the place, particularly from Larry Smith and Rachel Fershelisher, who landed there during their Six-Word Memoirs book tour. The Book Cellar serves wine (as well as the usual tea & coffee) while you peruse your favorite books. The event itself went really well, with about 40 people in attendance, including my old Chicago pals Amy & Lee, and Zoe & Mark, as well as some old co-workers from the late, lamented Ligature. A couple of old Chicago area-comics pals showed up as well: Steve Darnall of Empty Love Stories and Uncle Sam, and Mike Fragassi, a comics critic from the baby days of the Internet. And last but not least, noted Chicago cartoonist Jeffrey Brown made the scene as well (and even stayed around to chat afterward, which was a nice treat). The crowd was really receptive to the book and ran me through the best Q&A session to date. After a drink and a bratwurst with Zoe, Mark, my Ligature buddy Angela, and some others at the next-door beerhall, I headed back to Amy & Lee's, my hosts for the weekend.

The next day was August 29, the actual fourth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. My only event was an "author coffee" at Amy Davis's writing workspace, where I walked 11 people through the origins of A.D. Everyone there was a writer of some kind, with a range of interests in self-publishing, web-to-print projects, and comics, and we spent a lively couple of hours chewing the fat.

I spent the rest of the afternoon hoofing around the old 'hood, down in Wicker Park, which has changed a lot since the mid-1990s. But my favorite neighborhood Chinese place, Mon Lung, is still in business, and I lunched on the best mongolian beef I've found in these United States. I also visited Quimby's, where I signed a couple of books and where the manager, Liz, snapped my photo. The day ended with an awesome dinner over at Mark & Zoe's house, along with Amy & Lee.

Sunday was a day off, and I got to hit Wrigley and take in a Cubs game — oddly enough, versus my own hometown Mets — and then later that evening augmented the decadence with an actual movie. District 9 was a bit of a letdown from a great premise, but still eminently entertaining. A mid-day flight Monday from O'Hare brought me back to NYC, and I even made it home in time to pick up Phoebe from daycare.

The weekend in the Windy City was a great balance of flogging A.D. and enjoying some much-needed down-time.

Writer and writing teacher Jill Dearman (Bang the Keys), who just happens to live in my building (and who went to college with man_size !), just interviewed me for the Barnes & Noble blog "Unabashedly Bookish." I like the title of the piece, "He is a Camera; Josh Neufeld's Cinematic Take on Hurricane Katrina." The interview is half A.D. and half just me: Jill asked some unusual questions, which I enjoyed answering, including my writing/drawing process, my personal obsessions, and what artists, writers, and teachers have influenced me the most. Check it out here.

[Wherein I continue my rundown of the A.D. book tour, picking up back home in NYC on August 25, 2009. Will I ever catch up?]

A.D.'s New York book launch and benefit was held at Idlewild Books on August 25. I had just gotten back from New Orleans the day before and barely had time to catch my breath before diving back into the fray. But I wouldn't have had it any other way, given this chance to celebrate the book's release with so many local friends and family. And so many of them did attend, including both sets of my parents, Sari's folks, most of our brothers and their significant others, a cousin, and many, many friends, both new and old — far too many to list — including a generous helping of my compatriots from the cartooning community. I was truly touched by the outpouring of love and support for the book (and me!).

The party was also a benefit for Common Ground Relief, and was augmented by beer, wine, snacks, pralines flown in from NOLA, and best of all, the live music of Mary McBride! By all accounts, it was a smashing success, as the place was packed for the whole three hours. My only complaint — and it's not a real one — is I didn't get a chance to say more than the most cursory hello to anyone, as I was kept occupied pretty much the whole time signing people's books. In that way, someone likened the event to a wedding, and it was like my wedding day in the sense that it is all now a happy blur.

I do know it actually happened, thanks to my wonderful ex-assistant Rachel, who videotaped my rambling incoherent (and ultimately teary) speech of thanks at the event, which if you insist on viewing can be seen here. Also, just as things were heating up, Jason Boog of GalleyCat did a video interview with me, which can be seen here. And my good pal leborcham (a.k.a. Heidi MacDonald) covered the event for Publishers Weekly's "The Beat," which you can read here (even though, weirdly, I am not pictured!).

In the end, Idlewild sold out of all 75 copies of A.D. — and the benefit raised $1,200 for Common Ground! Big ups to the Big Apple!

In the September/October issue of good ol' Mother Jones magazine is this review from Kiera Butler:

[Wherein I continue my rundown of the A.D. book tour, picking up in New Orleans on August 23, 2009]

My last full day in NOLA was mostly a day off. Sari & I started with a room service breakfast (one perk of the book tour) and then headed over to Beth’s Books, a small store located in the Marigny/Upper Ninth Ward area. Leo came along again as well, but I was most glad to see A.D. character Denise, who drove down from Baton Rouge (where she often stays on the weekends to spend time with her grand-nephews) for the day. It was great to finally introduce her to Sari and to see her in person again after more than a year. She was looking great, and is doing really good work as a Ford Foundation fellow. The crowd at Beth’s Books was similar in spirit to that of Maple Street Books the day before, and by the end of the event we had sold out all their copies.

From there, Sari and I drove a little bit around the Lower Ninth Ward, where some of the worst flooding occurred. That was an eye-opener. I had known that large parts of the area were still empty and abandoned, but I wasn’t prepared for the desolate, overgrown reality. Block after block of wild grasses, overgrown bushes, and trees, with one or two occupied houses dotting the wilderness. Intersections that were so overgrown you couldn’t see the street signs or stop signs. Occasionally a mowed plot of land with just the empty concrete slab where the house used to be. It was all quite shocking, and left us wondering how this once vibrant community of long-time residents could ever be brought back. (After all, four years down the line, many former residents have re-settled — whether by choice or circumstance — in other cities.)

We also happened by the Ninth Ward headquarters of Common Ground Relief, an organization I’ve been raising money for by having fundraisers and selling A.D. prints. Even though it was a Sunday afternoon, Director Thom Pepper was there, keeping shop, as well as an assortment of dedicated volunteers. Thom showed us around a little and told us in detail some of Common Ground’s projects: gutting and rebuilding houses, and working on wetland restoration, hoping to revitalize the natural surrounding flood barriers. Common Ground is good people.

Some shots of our tour of the Ninth Ward:
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Common Ground Relief

Sari & I capped off our night with dinner at the legendary Garden District restaurant Commander’s Palace. Normally we don’t have the kind of dough to finance such extravagances, but since my Pantheon “per diem” was still in effect, we splurged. It was fun to be waited on with such personal attention, and upon many people’s recommendation we partook of the turtle soup and the bread pudding. (When I told the Doctor about our dinner at the rival restaurant to his beloved Galatorie’s, he blinked and then intoned, “Well, I’ve never forgiven Commander’s Palace for bringing Emeril to New Orleans.” I could only guess at the acid connotations of that remark.)

Mallary Jean Tenore of the Poynter Institute for Media Studies just posted a comprehensive look at "comics journalism" using two of my projects as models. Tenore's piece, "Journalists, Artists Tell Stories with Nonfiction Graphic Novels," looks at the potential for using comics as a journalism tool, and she talked extensively to me and my Influencing Machine collaborator Brooke Gladstone in doing it. I discuss my process as a "reporter" and then artist in doing A.D., and then how that process will shift in working with Brooke. And Brooke has some very insightful things to say about writing as a journalist and then learning to write for comics.

The Poynter Institute is a school and journalism resource institue located in St. Petersburg, Florida, They're the parent company of the St. Petersburg Times and Congressional Quarterly, and also publish Jim Romenesko's media insider blog. Check out the piece if you're interested in such things.

After reuniting Saturday evening with Sari back at our French Quarter hotel, we headed over to Doctor Lutz’s (A.D. character “The Doctor”) home for a cocktail party. He had gone all-out in preparation for the shindig, hiring an event planner and ordering 50 copies of A.D. to give out to guests (in addition to the 25 donated by Pantheon). The event planner had images of the Doctor from the book printed onto the hors d’oeuvre serving trays!

The party was everything I would have thought it would be given the host and location — a savory gumbo of New Orleans upper crust society, libertines, and eccentrics — with a politician thrown in the mix. (Edwin Murray, a 2010 candidate for mayor, was there, and Dr. Lutz had me sign his book “To the next mayor of New Orleans.”) In addition to the Doctor and his dogs Kip and Rose (both of whom also appear in A.D.), also present were A.D. characters Leo & Michelle, as well as the Doctor’s partner Ken Combs, and Ken Colditch and Edwin Curry, who all make brief appearances at the Doctor’s house during his “hurricane party”. And of course SMITH editor Larry Smith, who made a very gracious toast to the Doctor. There was copious food and drink, and a barefoot “gypsy band” playing fiddles and a washboard, that Dr. Lutz had pulled off the streets in Jackson Square. People lingered late into the night, spread out around the pool, at the back yard tables, and in the Doctor’s sitting room.

About halfway through the festivities, I was again sat down at a table to sign books. Again it was a long string of great encounters with amazingly gracious and grateful people. I was thanked again and again for telling the story of Katrina and keeping it in the public eye. (It only occurs to me now, four years after the storm, that much of the rest of the country really has “moved on” from Katrina and doesn’t spend some portion of every day thinking about the hurricane and its effect on New Orleans and the Gulf Coast.) Nonetheless, in the midst of that crowd, I did feel a little bit like some kind of curious creature on display for the evening — “Come see the funny Brooklyn cartoonist!” — but I soaked it up regardless.

By evening’s end, the Doctor was slumped against his couch with assorted hangers-on, at least “three or four sheets to the wind,” as Leo so eloquently put it. After my long day, I was beat, and Sari & I called it a night.

I found out the next day that the band went skinny-dipping in the Doctor’s pool; when I mentioned it to him later he drawled, “That’s fine, because they needed a bath.”


The Doctor, yours truly, and Leo