carnet de voyage
A year ago I reviewed the illustrated travel journal of Lucy Knisley, French Milk, set in France. While an enjoyable enough read, it lacked maturity and nuance, and didn’t really qualify as the kind of place-based writing I thought other travel writers would benefit from. Carnet de Voyage, however, also an illustrated travelogue, more than proves the validity of the genre. Craig Thompson tells an overarching story, plays with different layouts, wanders through stories-within-stories, tells two stories at once with complex drawings, and more. He also explores existential anxieties, personal beliefs, and human needs, while placing himself as a person in the world who is aware of his citizenship in larger communities.
One of the very first things Thompson does is to address the concept of truth. “The stories, characters, and incidents in this publication are based on the personal experiences of the author, but should not necessarily be considered the truth with a capital ‘T’” (4). When putting forth a work of non-fiction, as with travel writing, readers expect a reliable narrator—it’s a valid concept to address, and I was pleased to find that he did so.
Thompson often encounters other travelers, and the first of these as he is arriving to Lyon, France, is the sister of a friend he’s staying with who has just gotten back from Cameroon, Africa. She shares a few of her stories with Thompson, so he includes them, with his illustrations, for us. Knowing as we do that he is capturing this other person’s stories in a specific time and place during his own travels in a specific time and place feels a bit surreal. In little ways throughout the book he adds texture and layers to his own human experience by interacting with others people also on journeys.
Another way that Thompson connects to the larger world is to take common experiences and reveal his deeply personal connections to them. It certainly doesn’t hurt that his art style is evocative and skillful, able to convey a wide range of feeling. After doing an interview with a Christian radio station, he and his friends “continued on with the religious theme, visiting the two major churches of Lyon” (15). Gazing on the Virgin Mary he thinks of the women in his life: his mother and his former lover, the latter of which becomes a consistent presence in this book and one of the reasons the author is traveling.
Thompson also places himself in the larger community of cartoonists, first by viewing work of artists he admires, and later on by visiting with several artist friends at their homes and at various events. Baudoin is one of his favorite French cartoonists, and he sees some of this artist’s work on display, causing his friend and gallery owner Valery to say, “you can look at a Baudoin drawing and know he cares” and that “drawings don’t lie” (18). This is certainly true of our own author artist, Thompson, and the drawings he shares with us. Later on he gets to meet a hero of his, Blutch, “one of my most favorite cartoonists in the world” (148). Blutch addresses the concept of truth in autobiography, saying, “There is nothing real, but everything is exact” (149).
Sickness is a part of travel that Thompson doesn’t shy away from, discussing with frankness when he gets sore throat, headache, stomach sick, overtired, overstimulated, anxious, or feeling claustrophobic. It’s refreshing to read and concur with the truth of such physical and mental ailments, because travelling enables new experiences, and certainly not all of them can be glamorous. It feels honest for him to include these moments. He doesn’t do it often, but he also marginally makes note of his modern context as a travel writer, mentioning the Lonely Planet guide as a starred note on one page (64) and concluding Carnet with the lament, “I need to tackle bill-paying illustration jobs that I’ve been postponing” (219).
From early on in the work we know that Thompson is no longer in a relationship with his lover and he often feels the pain of their separation. He notes the presence of so many traveling couples, and is encouraged by the rarer lone travelers, like himself, who are to him “a source of connection and encouragement in the midst of my self-imposed loneliness” (67). As a reader this felt like an important moment, that Thompson was acknowledging one of the reasons we travel and the reality of traveling alone. When I lived a year abroad in Japan I certainly considered the reasons I felt the need to explore on my own, to impose on myself a separation from familiar places and people. “Self-imposed loneliness” was a phrase that resonated with me, and I didn’t find it indulgent or self-pitying—simply a small acknowledgement while moving forward.
Later, on a bus in Morocco, he meets another American and compares how different they are, and ends up putting into words the reason for the Carnet: to draw as a manner of interacting with the world, extending myself…Instead I feel a bit isolated, neurotic, and burdened” (85). I think that one of the reasons we travel is in order to gain new perspective, and I think that part of that perspective can only be gained upon returning. So I felt it was natural that in the thick of it Thompson would not yet have learned all he would about this experience.
A bit later, we have a two page spread of a more outright kind of self-pitying (pgs 72-73), but even as we read Thompson’s glum thought bubbles, wishing he were elsewhere, eating different food, doing different things, we see the beautiful people and places all around him. I found this a fairly sophisticated method for the author to show both the wistfulness of wanting Other (or The Familiar) while taking the time to draw in such luscious detail what he’s “missing.” Clearly he didn’t miss them altogether, or we wouldn’t have his detailed drawings of them! I also found it impressive that Thompson could be so skilled with drawing people as well as architecture, and he demonstrates both abilities throughout this book.
Further on, he confronts himself, with the help of a bulbous-eyed little monster. “With nothing to distract me,” he realized, “I had to face how unhappy a person I am” (86). Much later, using a traditional comic layout of rectangular panels, the little boy Samuel explores the concept of happiness, asking the author if he is happy (146-147). It is not a tidy ending but merely a day among many that Thompson is able to experience a kind of relief, “I’ve abandoned my neurosis for the day…I wandered the city with…a gigantic love for my ex-lover with no delusions about being back together” (150). Concurrently examining the self and the outside world seems a cornerstone of travel writing, and Thompson certainly does both. More than just observing, though, he seeks interaction with travelers and locals wherever he goes, adding yet another dimension to his writing.
Thompson finds comfort in the familiar when he encounters Europeans in Marrakesh (107). And when an older British couple tell him he’s a good person, he gets emotional. I think while travelling it is common to experience more intense emotional states, because we have already ventured so far out of our comfort zones. He also mentions a few times that he retreats into checking email when the world gets too overwhelming (104; 121). Especially when travelling I think it’s crucial to make time for quiet and regaining your equilibrium. Did I enjoy Thompson because I felt we had so much in common? I don’t think that’s the case. My impression is that we have very different personalities. He’s just able to bridge the gaps by providing content that is both personal and universal.
Though Thompson certainly enjoys pleasant, warm weather days and curls up miserably cold while in transit, I appreciated the significant juxtaposition of the uncomfortable warmth of Morocco against the reassuring snowy landscapes of the Alps (132-133). This felt like a little bit of author manipulation for symbol in story, but it didn’t come on too strong, and worked well.
It’s not until late in the book, in his signature understated fashion, that Thompson reveals a potent detail about his previous significant other. He says that he and another friend share the experience of “ being in love with someone seriously ill” (183). The only foreshadowing of this possibility is several pages before when he is on the phone with his ex-girlfriend discussing the pain in his hands from rheumatoid arthritis. He privately notes, “and she’s in worse pain than I” (173). With this new knowledge I immediately wanted to reread Carnet to see if knowing this would change my perspective. This was a masterful touch by Thompson to say so much with so little, and to reveal the humanity of his pain without invading the privacy of her illness.
Thompson often allows his thoughts and feelings to find expression on the lips of others, so it isn’t surprising that the woman he sleeps with toward the end of the book is the one to speak a truth about who he is as a person, “we’re the ones who are the most scared, and need the most love” (217). In the end he lets his little monster do the talking in order to make the most obvious (and universal ) statements: Our lives are so stupid and mundane and magical and sacred! I’m happy and sad and naïve and deluded and insecure and egocentric!” (221).
For more Craig Thompson, check out his blog: http://dootdootgarden.com/