Now the bad news: how do we know what's funny? I sit alone in my living room, silent but for the sound of our gas fireplace, the neighbor's chickens, and Saturday morning traffic on the road by our house. I read a line from Ecclesiastes, imagine how a classroom of modern university students might respond, then search for a play on words, surprise twist, or witty conundrum which I hope readers will find cleaver if not outright humorous. I know my limitations and don't even try for hilarity, knee slapping guffaws, or belly laughs. Ecclesiastes isn't the right setting for prat falls, slapstick, squirting flowers or joy buzzers. My ambition is for readers to smile. Which, given the somber and gloomy tenor of the book, will be a great accomplishment. I'm aiming for gallows humor with heart.
Here's a prime example of the difficulty of writing humor. I just completed writing the dialog for section 22 and the final verse (10:20) says this: "Do not revile the king even in your thoughts; or curse the rich in your bedroom because a bird of the air may carry your words, and a bird on the wing may report what you say."
These words beg for comic treatment. Here's what I've done; let's see if it still has merit after it marinates several weeks (I'll do the second edit once the first draft is done). Bear with me; dissecting humor is, Mark Twain said, like dissecting a frog.
Section 22, Page 22
Panel 1: Mr. Q, Do not revile the king.
Panel 2: Student, There goes talk radio.
Panel 3: Student, There goes punditry.
Panel 4: Student, There go editorials, blogs, and satirical parodies of pomposity.
Panel 5: Student, Just when incivility is becoming an art form Mr. Q squashes it.
Panel 6: Student, Political party pooper.
Mr. Q's comment, like most of his comments, crash against 21st century life. On this page I'm trying to point out how difficult it would be to follow his advice to "not revile a king." The conventional interpretation of this verse among many religious folks, "Don't badmouth the president," a sentiment with which I generally concur (due more to my conciliatory nature than any theological or political conviction). I enjoy Steven Colbert, Bill Maher, and John Stewart. And I defend their first amendment right to make jokes about politicians. But my point on page 22 is to use the students as foil and call attention to the difficulty of following Mr. Q's command. Blending two phrases ("political party" and "party pooper") is the sort of word play I enjoy.
Section 22, Page 23
Panel 1: Mr. Q, Even in your thoughts.
Panel 2: Student, I can’t question political leaders even in my mind?
Panel 3: Student, There goes freedom of thought.
Panel 4: Student, (deep in concentration)
Panel 5: Student 2, What are you doing?
Panel 6: Student, Tear gassing the protesters in my mind.
Reviling the king (or president) is important in a democracy (even though I sometimes cringe at the lack of civility, gravitas, and respect due hard working, civic minded, public servants). But I do not agree with this statement at all. I'm sure Mr. Q meant well...but c'mon. We can't even think about criticizing the government? I do not concur. Hopefully this comes across in a gentle (and witty?) way. (NOTE: I am doing my best not to lock my graphic novel in time and space by naming current events, an increasingly difficult challenge in this year of presidential election, national discombobulation, and economic woes. Political tensions are at a fever pitch and I'm so tempted to jump into the fray...but I want Ecclesiastes U to transcend the year 2012).
Section 22, Page 24
Panel 1: Mr. Q, Or curse the rich in your bedroom.
Panel 2: Student, If I want to curse the rich in my bedroom I
will.
Panel 3: Student (looking like Groucho Marx), How they got in my bedroom I’ll never know.
Panel 4: Student, Those without bedrooms curse me because I’m
richer than them and I don’t care.
Panel 5: Student, Cursing is a spectator sport.
Panel 6: Student, I wonder who the 1% of the
world’s richest people curse.
One of the current events I'm avoiding mentioning in this book is the Occupy Wall Street movement, where protesters, saying they represent 99% of the population, are asking the richest 1% to pay more taxes. Amid this dialog has erupted a real anger toward the super rich. I do not share that anger. Rather than embroil these students in that debate I riff on the "curse" theme. The student dialog in Panel 4 is as close as I get to declaring my colors on this issue. If a rich person got rich ethically, good for them. And while I wish they'd pay more taxes, the underdeveloped world could occupy Ferndale and just as easily ask me (lower middle class by American standards) to share my wealth with them. So, the ethics of wealth distribution is a thornier issue than I can solve here. My point is to help readers read and grapple with Ecclesiastes, not engage in discussions of redistribution of wealth.
Section 22, Page 25
Panel 1: Mr. Q, Because a bird in the sky may carry your words.
Section 22, Page 26
Panel 1: Mr. Q, And a bird on the wing may report what you say.
At this point I'm really stumped. I'm not proud of what I've done; and I'm not sure it'll survive the next edit. I planned to draw a bird visiting (caricatures of) Trump, Gates, Buffett, and a dozen other of the world's richest men (whom I'll find on Google). That bird will be cursing these rich dudes. However, those curses are lifted from a fabulously funny web site, The Luther Insulter. I couldn't muster the gumption to criticize these wealthy men so I used Luther's insults. It's incongruous, since Luther was insulting religious heretics. Plus, I'm not sure those rich dudes deserve such invective. Yet I'm stuck with this damn bird who's gotta say something to somebody.
The humor muses have abandoned me. Writing humor isn't pretty.
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