I emigrated last week and as a result I haven´t been reading very much except rental agreements and tapas menus, but as I have left behind my parents, my boyfriend and my cat, I have had the to-be-expected pangs for home, so to get myself to sleep at night I have concocted a recipe that consists of a requisite few pages of The Virgin Suicides in Spanish (for study), then Viz (the comic), until I fall asleep.
Reading so much Viz reminded me that in 2004 I read Chris Donald´s autobiography, Rude Kids, the story of Viz from its inception in Chris´s bedroom, through its many law suits and other trials. It also reminded me of his strong assertion that the comic is not crude (which I agree with), which in turn reminded me just how much artistry goes into being funny in the way that Viz is. It really isn´t just fart jokes, or it is, but the fart jokes aren´t just fart jokes.
When reading The Virgin Suicides, I really enjoy the mellifluousness of the Spanish language and am proud that I can read it well enough to enjoy it. I am happy and excited to be living in a new and foreign city for the first time in my life, after having wanted to do it for a long time. However, then I move onto Viz I think how there is probably a lot of me that is immutably British, perhaps most of all the sense of humour and all its (deceptive) juvenility.