Back to the Klondike

"A priceless part of our literary heritage.”  Thus the blurb reads on the front cover of the book in question.  Now that is the sort of accolade which obviously applies to a Great Book.  Yet, the book in question in not in the Library of America series (which might have been obvious since the Library of America doesn’t have cover blurbs on the front of their volumes (which is he sort of trivia of interest to precisely nobody except Your Humble Narrator)).  Now the blurb writer of this particular accolade is also noteworthy; many blurbs are written by the friends of the author, some by luminaries who write in the same genre (once can sense an undertone of “I praise your book, you praise mine”).  But, this blurbist fits neither of those categories; instead, this is a well-known personage, very well-known, who is not known for his literary efforts (for good reason).  The Blurbist:  George Lucas.  The George Lucas.  (If you don’t know that name, you live under a rock.)

The volume was written by Carl Barks, which is a name completely unfamiliar to most people.  So, here we have a book which George Lucas called a Priceless (priceless!) part of our literary heritage written by an author almost completely unknown.  How can this be?  Well, it turns out that while the name Carl Barks is little known, the names of the characters about who he writes are incredibly well known.

But, enough of this exercise in trivial pursuit.  The Book: Walt Disney’s Uncle Scrooge: “Only a Poor Old Man.”  This is one of a series currently being released of the work of Carl Barks, the author and illustrator of Donald Duck comic books in the mid-20^th century.  And Donald Duck comic books are unquestionably a priceless part of our literary heritage.

But, are they worth reading?  If one is not obsessed with Donald Duck, it is possible to be glad that this work is being republished in beautifully done volumes, but it does not immediately follow that the volumes are the sort of thing which should be read by one and all.  Curiously, there is a certain insecurity about the whole enterprise exhibited by the editors of the volume.  Both this one and the first volume in this series (Walt Disney’s Donald Duck: “Lost in the Andes”) have at the back a series of short, scholarly (well, really, pseudo-scholarly) essays about each comic book, showing how Barks was really (really!) doing interesting work here and (insert foot stomp) you should really recognize how incredibly important (important!) this work is because you might be tempted (you philistine, you) to think this is mere kid’s stuff.  The earnestness and vacuousness of these mini-essays makes me pause.  I mean, I liked reading the comic book I just read; it was cute and interesting, so why do you need to beat me over the head with how important it is?  Insecurity indeed.

Truth be told, these Donald Duck and Uncle Scrooge comic books are cute and interesting and not much more than that.  Sure, I have no doubt that in the history of comic books, these are groundbreaking; comic books as art medium were just being developed in the mid-20^th century, so somebody had to break new ground.  And there is no doubt at all, that these characters are now iconic, and we can thank Carl Barks for that.  So, I am glad these volumes are being published; I enjoyed reading Uncle Scrooge’s tales.  Why can’t that be enough?  Does volume need more justification that simply saying it is a pleasant thing to read?  Isn’t there something amazing in the fact that a volume of comic books published over half a century ago still can stand on its own as a pleasant thing to read?  Yes, I don’t know many people to whom I would recommend Donald Duck comic books, they are not Great Books, but there is a large area between Great Books and Childish Trash.  So, why the pseudo-intellectual commentary at the end?  That commentary not only made me sad, but curiously moving from reading an enjoyable comic book showing that the quest for money is ultimately not satisfying (which is, after all the whole point of Uncle Scrooge’s existence as a character) to a brief moralizing essay saying the obvious, made the comic book seem not more scholarly and elevated, but rather made the whole thing seem smaller.  Uncle Scrooge and Donald and Gladstone and the Nephews, well they are truly characters worthy of Dickens (which is saying a lot).  Seeing them muddle through their days makes these book not all that different from some sort of comic book version of The Pickwick Papers.  Not as great as Dickens to be sure, but all in all, not terribly different.  And that is te reason to read them: a seemingly desultory journey actually containing some moral lessons accompanied by some memorable characters.  If that description isn’t enticing, then there is nothing to see here.  (Or here, in one of the oddest videos ever.)