Through much of my childhood growing up in Rockland County, N.Y., I spent far more time with comic strips and comic books than with other children. The emotional landscape of Charles M. Schulz’s “Peanuts” reflected my own insecurities and loneliness. Later, when I started reading comic books, I was especially drawn to the Fantastic Four, a superhero family whose combustible dynamics felt all too familiar.
Like all kids, I was at the mercy of adults, and drawing superheroes gave me a sense of power and agency. My parents saw my growing obsession with comic books as the reason for my poor grades and lack of focus in class. To be fair, they weren’t entirely wrong, but as a result, when I shared my own attempts at cartooning with them, their enthusiasm only went so far.
When I met Brett in my freshman year of high school, I finally had a friend who loved comics as much as I did. He lived in a small house within walking distance of town, from which we’d race to Mr. Oz News Center Book Store every week on the day the comic book shipment arrived. I’d spend the quarters and dollar bills I filched from my mother’s purse to buy the new issues of “Fantastic Four,” “X-Men,” “Marvel Team-Up” and more. We’d be especially excited when the work of one of our favorite cartoonists, like John Byrne or Michael Golden, hit the stands.
Brett and I met Mike, another boy our age, by chance in the carriage house of one of the few remaining Victorians on Main Street, where for a hot second someone sold old comics. We all hit it off immediately. Mike lived with his mom and stepdad in a local motel and moved often. He’d either dropped out of high school or never gone to begin with.
Together we spent the next three years stoking one another’s imaginations and building our comic book collections. We combed flea markets and used-book stores, and once, Brett’s dad drove us into Manhattan, where across the street from Madison Square Garden, in a dingy ballroom of the old Hotel Pennsylvania, I attended my first comic book convention.
These childhood memories came flooding back as I read two new middle grade books that capture the intensity of friendships forged through shared creative passions and pursuits. In the graphic novel THE CARTOONISTS CLUB (Graphix, 288 pp., $14.99, ages 8 to 12), by Raina Telgemeier and Scott McCloud, four middle school students — Makayla, Howard, Lynda and Art — support and inspire one another while tackling the challenges of making comics. Telgemeier (the Eisner Award-winning creator of the graphic memoirs “Smile,” “Sisters” and “Guts,” and the graphic novels “Drama” and “Ghosts”) has earned legions of fans with her heartfelt, relatable portrayals of adolescence, and that talent is on full display here as well. When the friends head to the public library to attend their first minicomics convention, their giddy, nervous excitement is palpable.
J VS. K (Little, Brown, 240 pp., $16.99, ages 8 to 12), by the cartoonist Jerry Craft and the writer Kwame Alexander, blends prose, verse, illustration and comics to tell the story of two precocious fifth graders whose fierce rivalry drives each of them to greater artistic heights. Both Craft and Alexander are Newbery medalists (Craft for his graphic novel “New Kid” and Alexander for his verse novel “The Crossover”) and winners of many other awards — yet they still can tap into that heartbreaking feeling of seeing someone else’s artistic triumph as one’s own failure.
Like the members of the Cartoonists Club, Brett, Mike and I were supportive friends. But like J and K, we could also be rivals. I remember meticulously working on a single drawing for several days — the longest I’d ever spent on one piece — hoping that when I finally showed it to Brett and Mike they would have to acknowledge my superior skills. Much to my disappointment, that didn’t happen.
I respect how both books offer practical instruction for budding writers and cartoonists. McCloud (“Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art”) has helped generations understand the power and potential of comics — and the inventive ways in which he and Telgemeier unpack the genre’s formal elements are impressive. Craft and Alexander — using playful, metatextual sleight of hand — demonstrate the process of drafting and revising stories. No doubt, these how-to passages will be of tremendous use to readers. But as the books’ narratives ultimately make clear, it’s the people with whom we choose to surround ourselves who end up being our best motivators and teachers.
Though it had been about 30 years since I’d spoken to Brett or Mike, I suddenly felt a need to reconnect after finishing “The Cartoonists Club” and “J vs. K.” With a little online searching I was able to find a phone number for Brett and immediately placed the call. As soon as I heard his voice it was like old times. We remembered the names of the superheroes and villains we created, the things we admired about each other’s drawings, the cartoonists we loved and carefully studied in preparation for one day becoming professional cartoonists ourselves. Mike, we recalled, was less confident as a comics artist but wasn’t without ambition. He figured he might be an inker.
I looked forward to catching up with Mike next and asked Brett if he was in touch with him. This is when I learned that Mike had passed away during the pandemic after a long, debilitating illness. As tears filled my eyes I remembered Mike’s easy laugh and sweet disposition. I’m glad I was able to thank Brett for being part of my first cartoonists club but sorry I couldn’t do the same for Mike.
After graduating from high school I’d headed to the Midwest for college, then bounced around the country for the next 14 years. Wherever I lived, I sought out fellow cartoonists for conversation and collaboration. In their company, as in Brett and Mike’s, the work I aspired to create — and the life I hoped to build — seemed within reach.
These days, as the world feels like a colder and more hostile place, I’ve come to appreciate my cartoonists clubs more than ever. On Wednesday afternoons, I often check in with cartooning pals on a longstanding Zoom call, and recently I formed a graphic memoir critique group in which four of us share our raw, messy works in progress.
I’ve known and identified with many Makaylas, Howards, Lyndas, Arts, J’s and K’s over the years and witnessed even the most ardent creative flames weaken or be snuffed out. “The Cartoonists Club” and “J vs. K” will certainly inspire kids to write and draw, but to me, four and a half decades removed from junior high, they read like survival guides — a reminder to keep seeking and stoking each other’s light, knowing that no matter how dark things get we will burn more brightly together.