The sequential units of language (i.e. words) have often been characterized by a tension between diversity and universality in the triangulation between information content, length and frequency. Here we examine similar tensions in the sequential units of visual narratives (i.e. panels) by focusing on how many entities appear per panel in visual narratives from the TINTIN Corpus of 1,030 annotated comics from 144 countries (76,000+ panels). Rates of entities per panel differ in regularized ways between styles of comics that cut across global regions, implicating typologically different ‘visual languages’. Entities per panel were also associated with panel size, where greater numbers of entities were associated with larger sizes of panels. Finally, a negative association appeared between panels with different numbers of entities and their frequency, reminiscent of a Zipf’s law of abbreviation. As associations of both size and frequency with character per panel persisted in a uniform way across styles, it implies universal tendencies transcending the diversity across systems, consistent with typological properties of languages.

In this article, we identify the comics of the Real Cost of Prisons Project as graphic memory work that denaturalises ‘penal common sense’ and engages in graphic witnessing. To show how the United States’ ‘crime problem’ established a seemingly natural link between crime and incarceration, we first review the criminological aspects of American comics memory. Then, we demonstrate how The Real Cost of Prisons Comix reworks the historical and social dynamics of the American carceral regime through its abolitionist framework. We discuss the importance of the image–text form for abolitionist pedagogy by reflecting on the position of comics in carceral textual cultures and the use of these comics in activist education. Finally, we emphasise that the comics created by the Real Cost of Prisons Project should be understood as pedagogical tools in a broader abolitionist movement whereby the historical and social education initiated by memory work aims to ignite collaborative praxis. In this sense, we show that their activist memory work is a means to demystify the historical processes of carceral expansion, enabling its audience to develop historical consciousness.

Comics are one of the paradigmatic forms of hybrid media, and coming up with a satisfactory definition for it has been difficult. Cowling, S. & Wesley D. C. (2022) take a functional approach and offer an Intentional Picture-Reading View which defines comics as something that is “aptly intended to be picture-read.” I show that the view is extensionally inadequate as is because formally ambitious prose and concrete poetry, too, are aptly intended to be picture-read. The way forward, I argue, is to look at more medium-specific non-depictive images (such as speech balloons and panels) to set comics apart from other hybrid media.

Depicting transgender persons in comics without falling into visual caricature and thereby perpetuating harmful stereotypes can be a delicate task. In this discussion, I draw upon the notion of picture-reading to argue that, despite this fact, comics as a medium is particularly well-suited—both formally and in terms of production-relevant factors—toward capturing and communicating the complexities of transgender experience.

We develop and defend a novel interpretation of mainstream Marvel Comics—an interpretation we call the Fictional Journalism Interpretation. We then show how this interpretation of Marvel comics (i) challenges standard accounts of the manner in which fictional truths are generated by fictions and (ii) provides us with novel, interesting, and in some cases simpler explanations of, and understandings of, phenomena within these comics that are hard to deal with adequately on more traditional accounts, including both contradictions in the fiction and various metafictional storytelling strategies. We conclude by defending the view from a number of objections.

I examine Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill’s adaptation of Margaret Cavendish’s Blazing World in the comic series The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I interpret philosophical aspects of Cavendish’s fictional landscape, including her vitalist materialism and naturalized talking animals, as they appear in series The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, rendered through 3-D images and corresponding 3-D glasses worn by readers. Through this world adaptation, Moore and O’Neill onboard themes of naturalness, experimentation, technology-aided perceptual processes, and travel to intersecting worlds to enhance The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen’s commentary on the formative influence of fiction on authors and audiences.

In Helen Bannerman’s Little Black Sambo, the text describes its main character as witty, brave, and resourceful. The drawings of the story’s main character which accompany this text, however, present a unique kind of harm that only becomes clear when the work is read as a collection of single-panel comics rather than an illustrated book. In this chapter, I show what happens when we read drawings in books as textless comics, and, based on how things turn out from this reading, motivate why we have some substantive reason to read both Little Black Sambo and other books with drawings-as-comics.

On the report model of appreciating fiction, one imagines learning about a fictional world through a report: reading or viewing someone’s account or listening to them tell their story. On the transparency model, one simply imagines the things that are fictional in the story, without imagining anything about how that information is acquired. It is argued that the transparency model is the default, in literature and cinema, but in comics, it is the report model that is the default.

Many comics are aesthetically trashy: They are immediately grasped and easily available. Historically, this trashiness is lobbed as an aesthetic defect of many comics, a defect for both their production and their appreciation. To defend these comics, some point to non-aesthetic values, like sociality. I argue that there is aesthetic value to these comics, and that it lies precisely in their trashy characteristics: their immediacy and availability. Many comics have these characteristics because many comics are cartooned. The immediacy of cartooning is precisely what makes so many ordinary comics beautiful in an ordinary way.

Comics can be ordered in a range of ways, most overtly by issue number for works within a series, and by page number for pages within works. The internal elements of a comic can also be ordered by formal details found within pages. We identify four kinds of formal details specific to comics pages or two-page spreads: how their elements are arranged, how they are viewed, what events they represent, and when information about those events is presented.

In this paper, I consider a peculiar feature of the aesthetics of collecting comics: collecting to complete a narrative. Unlike other forms of narrative engagement, comics are often read out of narrative sequence, and so collectors hunt for missing issues to fill in an incomplete story, leading to a “gappy” experience of the narrative. This “gappy” experience, I argue, has its own aesthetic quality and value, and I connect my analysis of the experience to both classical Kantian aesthetics and contemporary neuropsychology.

In this article, I argue, adverting to critical practices, that film adaptations are comparable with the comics that serve as their sources. The possibility of comparison presumes the existence of covering values according to which these comparisons are made. I raise four groupings of covering values for comics—narrative, pictorial, historical, and referential—and show how they apply to film adaptations as well, and argue that a fifth kind of value, fidelity, is relevant to comparisons of source comics to film adaptations. I close with a discussion of different types of fidelity that might be brought to bear in evaluation.

Looking back, the moral panic that precipitated the decimation of horror comics in the 1950s seems quaint, yet concerns about the psychological impact of violent media on consumers have never disappeared. In this article, I outline a particular type of psychological impact we ought to take seriously when evaluating the moral status of entertainment. I then consider (a) ways in which comics seem immune from claims that they create this kind of impact for their readers, as well as (b) ways in which we might think that comics generate special instances of moral danger for readers.