Alan Moore wants you to think.
Alan Moore wants me to think, too.
V for Vendetta, written by now-very-very-famous Alan Moore and illustrated by David Lloyd, is a challenging read, even for comix-literate folk. And it’s challenging in every sense of the word - featuring a challenging narrative full of dystopian political conflict with challenging content, challenging gritty, noir-style visuals, and challenging perception and persona. Challenging in a way that makes you ask questions.
It’s the kind of comic a new reader can pick up with the same expectations one might have of superheroes, action and fighting, good versus evil, and still walk away with the understanding that comics as a medium can make you question your own politics and activism.
Especially today, considering the white supremacist fascist regime Norsefire under which Britain is ruled in the graphic novel.
V for Vendetta features the iconic titular superhero character we expect from western comics, except not really: when we meet V in the comic, he starts off telling Evey he’s the villain.
We don’t learn what V looks like, except that his body is burned, probably beyond all recognition anyway. We learn he doesn’t have a name - V is the name he took from his own prison at Larkhill “Resettlement” Camp.
And in the present, we see him leap around Britain’s rooftops in a cloak and a Guy Fawkes mask.
While on the enemy side of the Norsefire party, being the same is expected and used as a way of othering ourselves (the readers) from them, on the side of the other (I’d like to say the side of justice), we have a character where identity is removed entirely: a blank slate resembling an idea more than a person. Which is kiiiiiiiiiinda how the Guy Fawkes mask became a new symbol for activism in the first place.
David Lloyd’s art in V for Vendetta resides in the world of more realistic representation, and the reader participation required in understanding what occurs is generally mid-level, since less emphasis is placed on the idea of a person. You can tell that's human being, right? But some sequences in this comic definitely require a double take!
In his book Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud presents the idea of closure: observing the parts but perceiving the whole. He also says “some forms of closure are deliberate inventions of storytellers to produce suspense or to challenge audiences” (McCloud 63). I think this intentional challenge is present in V for Vendetta.
Reading order is usually pretty clear: panels in this comic are generally just rectangles of similar size, all aligned perfectly to be read left-to-right. Little is left for reader interpretation there.
However, during dream, torture, flashback, and hallucinatory sequences (as well as the fun songwriting panel variants of the prelude to This Vicious Cabaret at the start of Book 2), that static perception is altered, toyed with in a way that requires more participation on our part - although generally the sequence is still comprehensible and uniform, much is ambiguous.
The presence of all of these narrative devices is alreadya little challenging in any medium - but when it comes to comics, we get the fun ability to just find meaning anywhere, to sit around debating the narrative space between panels, why we might see three gunshots but not know which of them hit someone... to wonder how long it took V to walk Prothero from his old room to the ovens he set up. If it’s harder to read, it’s because we’re supposed to think about it (or that’s what McCloud says, anyway). Specifically, that the creators intend for the audience to think about it.
The removal of V’s individual identity makes him a decent iconic character that readers can fill themselves into; someone we can connect with in actions, without having to connect in identity. Fill in your own identity and think about how it would influence your actions, since V’s morals as an anarchist aren’t the kind of morals the average person has.
Alan Moore wants me to think, too.
V for Vendetta, written by now-very-very-famous Alan Moore and illustrated by David Lloyd, is a challenging read, even for comix-literate folk. And it’s challenging in every sense of the word - featuring a challenging narrative full of dystopian political conflict with challenging content, challenging gritty, noir-style visuals, and challenging perception and persona. Challenging in a way that makes you ask questions.
It’s the kind of comic a new reader can pick up with the same expectations one might have of superheroes, action and fighting, good versus evil, and still walk away with the understanding that comics as a medium can make you question your own politics and activism.
Especially today, considering the white supremacist fascist regime Norsefire under which Britain is ruled in the graphic novel.
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| Page 40 of the 30th Anniversary Edition of V for Vendetta |
V for Vendetta features the iconic titular superhero character we expect from western comics, except not really: when we meet V in the comic, he starts off telling Evey he’s the villain.
We don’t learn what V looks like, except that his body is burned, probably beyond all recognition anyway. We learn he doesn’t have a name - V is the name he took from his own prison at Larkhill “Resettlement” Camp.
And in the present, we see him leap around Britain’s rooftops in a cloak and a Guy Fawkes mask.
While on the enemy side of the Norsefire party, being the same is expected and used as a way of othering ourselves (the readers) from them, on the side of the other (I’d like to say the side of justice), we have a character where identity is removed entirely: a blank slate resembling an idea more than a person. Which is kiiiiiiiiiinda how the Guy Fawkes mask became a new symbol for activism in the first place.
David Lloyd’s art in V for Vendetta resides in the world of more realistic representation, and the reader participation required in understanding what occurs is generally mid-level, since less emphasis is placed on the idea of a person. You can tell that's human being, right? But some sequences in this comic definitely require a double take!
In his book Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud presents the idea of closure: observing the parts but perceiving the whole. He also says “some forms of closure are deliberate inventions of storytellers to produce suspense or to challenge audiences” (McCloud 63). I think this intentional challenge is present in V for Vendetta.
Reading order is usually pretty clear: panels in this comic are generally just rectangles of similar size, all aligned perfectly to be read left-to-right. Little is left for reader interpretation there.
However, during dream, torture, flashback, and hallucinatory sequences (as well as the fun songwriting panel variants of the prelude to This Vicious Cabaret at the start of Book 2), that static perception is altered, toyed with in a way that requires more participation on our part - although generally the sequence is still comprehensible and uniform, much is ambiguous.
The presence of all of these narrative devices is already
The removal of V’s individual identity makes him a decent iconic character that readers can fill themselves into; someone we can connect with in actions, without having to connect in identity. Fill in your own identity and think about how it would influence your actions, since V’s morals as an anarchist aren’t the kind of morals the average person has.
It's fun to challenge the idea of what it means to be a freedom fighter and a revolutionary in comics - especially one that emphasizes the idea of individuality so much. Comics can be a serious medium, but they’re also not just a medium for heroes - they’re a medium that all individuals can become curious and empowered by.
Works Cited
McCloud, Scott. Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art. HarperCollins, 1993.
Moore, Alan. V for Vendetta. Illustrated by David Lloyd. DC Comics, 2005.
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