You, Me and Aude Picault's Moi je et caetera

Adrian K Sanders writing for I V Y Paris

Aude Picault is a big deal. Big enough that there is an entire site dedicated to stating quite plainly that they are in love with Aude Picault. And on this site, two characters argue over how one can be in love with someone one has never seen. I’m sure you can guess how the arguments are made in this quintessentially French debate (of course, they both win), but the question does beg an answer.

Picault’s success began with the popularity of the comics blog Chicou-Chicou, and has since been bolstered by publishing with L’Association and Warum. After recently being acknowledged as an official selection at the annual Festival d’Angoulême, Picault’s work Moi je et caetera is a bonafide success. While it’s not a ground breaking masterpiece, it is a convincingly honest and skillful executed book that should not be missed.

The small pocket sized BD follows Picault through her daily life of job searching, losing a job, annoying family, strange friends and stranger lovers. For many BD readers this quotidian autobiographical genre is a quagmire of low quality whining. Normally when I hear the words “quotidian autobiographical,” I am more inclined to think “navel-gazing.” In America, autobio comics have come to be synonymous with “navel-gazing” because they refer specifically to stories where the homely male protagonist spends a lot of time staring off into space (or at his navel), bemoaning his own personal tragedy and overall loneliness over the course of many tedious pages. The cartoonist attempts to find common ground with you, dear reader, because you too have been lonely, wandering the streets of such and such city, feeling sad that your dog died or your girlfriend left you. Because the story is atmospheric, things like plot and character development aren’t important. He could be anyone, he could be you! And this is why we must feel very sad for him. Thankfully in Moi je et caetera, we never have to make such vicarious jumps. You can remain you and when you meet her for the first time there is definitely no mistaking the fact that Aude is Aude.

The problem with the quotidian is that it is really boring. No Greek tragedy has ever taken place on quiet Sunday afternoon when everything was pleasant and good. Picault’s story is inherently aware of this. Since the quotidian cannot focus on a long plot such as the aftermath of a death, or the end of a relationship, it must seek to achieve something less grandiose. At least in scale. Picault is not concerned with major life-changing events, but with the daily life changes. These changes reveal the multi-faceted character of one woman in a way that is extremely intimate. There is no tangible continuity from page to page, we cannot tell if there are days, weeks or months separating events, and in truth, we don’t care. What is most important is that each vignette is wonderfully honest, revealing at times her egoism, her fragility and always her humanity. It helps that Picault is stylistically consistent, and that her compositions are simple and powerful. She has no problem conjuring up an entire city background with a few simple strokes, and is just as comfortable bombarding us with the messy details of her work place. The best cartooning compels us to read on, and Picault’s drawings do just that.

It is important to note that even though we follow Aude, we are not voyeurs. Captioned text is personal. We are not strangers and this is not a documentary. Picault’s frank confessions are addressed to friends and as friends, we watch Aude stress over her sex life and then struggle with existential crises. We smile and laugh when a moment of pure tranquility in bed with her lover is juxtaposed with a moment of pure stress as she tries to dissipate a fart in the bathroom. Aude is completely human, and Moi je et caetera is probably more honest than any number of conversations we have on a daily basis. Haute literature it isn’t, but for a youth culture increasingly pressured to conform to gender and class stereotypes, it’s maybe more important.

Comments

[c.]

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