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No Towers needs to negotiate the powers of the documentary image, but in the context of image saturation rather than of image prohibition: its images are vulnerable to the visual text’s




² For more on the relationship between corporate media and the government see Edward S. Herman’s and Noam Chomsky’s Manufacturing Consent: The

Political Economy of the Mass Media.

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unintended absorption into the lightness of the infinitely repeated and repeatable televisual documentary image, into the CNN- image-as-document. So in Maus the work’s main concern is how

not to overwrite another visual archive of its subject; in No Towers, it is how not to be overwritten by it. (60)

One of the ways that No Towers resists being overwritten by the televisual image is by inscribing narrative in a fluid space that denies the possibility of political stasis. In Spiegelman’s comics, we experience narrative as a fluid spatial practice. On a formal level, the book strategically resists formal classification, at once simulating the experience of newspapers, novels, television news reports, advertisements, coffee table books, photographs, postcards, and, of course, serial comics. On the first broadsheet, Spiegelman juxtaposes an image of Dan Rather— framed as a talking head by what appears to be the border of a television—with

(1) a three-frame contemporary comic strip showing a “normal” American family reacting to the attacks on television; (2) a stylistically turn-of-the-century strip;

(3) a pixilated stock image depicting smoke pouring out of the towers before they fell; (4) a digitally-rendered image of the tower’s glowing frame; and (5) a photographed image of a shoe, completing the joke initiated in the second strip. By using television as the connective motif of this panel and by playfully juxtaposing these media against one another, Spiegelman satirically comments on the ways that national politics and media ubiquity are intertwined.

More importantly, though, this first sheet conflates mediated narratives in such a way as to call our attention to the problematic task of challenging political discourse through a single lens. By challenging these modes of discourse, Spiegelman sets out his project of creating a counter-narrative through the conflation of various media, thereby generating a textual environment in which time and space are removed from static mediation. In moving freely between media and, therefore, between political spaces, as readers we resist being interpellated as static subjects within a single, politically-inscribed discursive space. As Martha Kuhlman has already noted in her essay on No Towers, Spiegelman uses the spatial potential of comics to break the frame of conventional narrative, allowing readers to creatively determine their narrative movement through the book (856). Kuhlman correctly notes the ways that Spiegelman critiques the stable, linear narratives that determine mainstream politics, but she largely overlooks his commentary on mediation and its role in narrative production. Spiegelman’s interest in mediated narratives appears in the first frames of the book, entitled “The New Normal,” in which he depicts a family— over the course of three frames—reacting to the events of 9/11 while watching television in their living room. The first frame, September 10^th according to the calendar on the wall, shows them complacently watching television, indifferent to politics; the second frame, September 11^th, shows them reacting to the attacks, clearly traumatized by the events transpiring on television; in the final frame, the calendar has been replaced by an American flag and the family has returned to

their state of political complacency. This strip demonstrates the extent to which Americans’ responses to the attacks were informed and, indeed, dictated by the media. The family’s only source of information comes from the television, which has presumably defined patriotism as the “normal” response to the attacks; under the direction of a media presence that consistently reinforces the politics of the state, Americans, Spiegelman satirically suggests, can return to a state of normalcy, that is, a state of political complacency. Spiegelman seems to argue that the only way to separate oneself from the politics of the state is to challenge the modes of production that strategically embed these discourses in mainstream popular culture.

Spiegelman’s critique of the mediated environment in many ways falls in line with work being done in media studies and its application to 9/11. Fritz Breithaupt’s essay, “Rituals of Trauma: How the Media Fabricated September 11,” offers interesting ways of approaching Spiegelman’s experiments with mediation. Breithaupt argues that the media response to 9/11 served as a fabrication of trauma in which, by representing the attacks as “traumatic,” the media was able to play the role of both friend and therapist, representing the trauma of the attacks and simultaneously providing the means through which the public could come to terms with that trauma (73). By interpellating the public as “traumatized” and therefore incapable of making sound political decisions, this process gave free license to the government and the military to conduct military campaigns in the Middle East without the oversight of a politically-savvy public

(81). In this way, the media was able to induce a state of trauma as a means of depriving the public of political agency. Noting the connections between media representations and the experience of trauma, Breithaupt writes, “The media are the apparatus that make possible the repetition of events, that amplify the magnitude of events, that offer events as an experience to those who were not present, and that bridge spatial and temporal orders (such as the past and present)…Thus, there is a functional similarity between the concept of ‘trauma’ and the modern mass media” (68). Through repetition, the media simulates trauma and packages it for consumption, all of this working, of course, to locate Americans within a particular political framework. Processes of mediation therefore mirror, reflect, and produce the experience of trauma, and this process tends to interpellate individuals in positions of political complacency.

While Breithaupt sees the production of trauma as a negative consequence of mediation (to a certain extent—as we see in the “The New Normal”— Spiegelman subscribes to this view) it also could be seen as an opportunity to resist the discourses of the state. As Jenny Edkins suggests, seeing trauma as a moment of political suspension that temporarily removes individuals from these discourses allows us to harness trauma as a potentially empowering psychological response to violence. Commenting on the media’s ability to fabricate trauma, Spiegelman uses intermedial experiments to simulate the experience of trauma and, in turn, produce spaces of political agency and mobility that contest an otherwise pervasive system of politics. Acknowledging the relationship between

media and trauma, the book produces highly-mediated spaces that mimic the media’s ability to initiate traumatic repetition and, simultaneously, produce that repetition as a means of removing the reader from the space of dominant discourse. Thus, Spiegelman both critiques the media’s production of trauma (“The New Normal”) and uses its heteromedial textual space to induce a potentially productive traumatic experience for the reader.

If modern mass media simulates the experience of trauma, then Spiegelman’s interest in using media to produce and sustain counter-narratives is significant; by overwhelming us with narratives embedded in various everyday media—television, newspaper, digital media, etc.—he simulates the experience of living within the spectacle and thereby simulates the trauma of the spectacle: the sense of dislocation and powerlessness associated with our relationship to institutional power. Moving between these media and encountering Spiegelman’s fragmented narratives, we exist in between zones of mediation, occupying uncomfortable, but ultimately productive, liminal spaces that prevent us from subscribing to any single narrative invested in any single narrative medium. If it is true, as Kali Tal has noted, that “Trauma is enacted in a liminal state, outside the bounds of ‘normal’ experience, [where] the subject is radically ungrounded” (15), then the textual space of No Towers—with its intermedial resonances—invites readers to enter the space of trauma and thereby take steps toward dismantling official narratives.

Katalin Orban notes the ways that Spiegelman resists presenting a central narrative in No Towers, instead offering a series of fragmented, “micronarratives” that circulate throughout the book. She interprets this “antinarrative impulse” as an attempt to provide alternatives to state-endorsed master-narratives (85). What is interesting, here, is how Spiegelman’s narrative concerns have evolved from their earlier iterations in Maus. Using the Holocaust as its traumatic referent, Spiegelman there adopted fairly conventional, linear narrative models for the novel’s two chief narratives: his parents’ experience in the Holocaust and his own experience as a secondary witness. In No Towers, the only consistent sense of temporality we experience is each broadsheet’s increasing temporal distance from September 11^th, and this lack of narrative unity suggests that Spiegelman’s aims are very different in the two books. In this era, Spiegelman seems to suggest, narratives are dangerous, and the book’s anti-narrative structure attempts to resist the political forces always threatening to claim 9/11.

Considering his emphasis on media as the perpetrator of political trauma, Spiegelman’s attempts to create heteromedial spaces—spaces that deny investment in any single media presence—reveal his interest in seeing trauma as a complex result of mediation. This appears most explicitly in the repetition of the book’s central image: the glowing frame of the North tower moments before its collapse. This image appears on every broadsheet, and its presentation as a digitally-rendered image stands in stark contrast to the conventional illustrations that make up the rest of the book. Spiegelman writes, “I repeatedly tried to paint

this with humiliating results but eventually came close to capturing the vision of disintegration digitally on my computer” (ii). It is significant that the pixilated image—a visual representation of the traumatic Real—finds its closest articulation through digital production. Spiegelman seems to acknowledge that only through the hypermediated image can trauma be accurately represented, suggesting that trauma—especially for those witnessing the attacks on television—is, even as it occurs, caught up in processes of image production and consumption. Understanding that Americans experience and process trauma in this way, Spiegelman produces a political counter-narrative that works from within the narrative machinery of the spectacle. This is significant and effective considering the psychological distance Spiegelman achieves in the years following the attack; in the final frames of the last broadsheet, the glowing towers, he writes, “seem to get smaller every day” (10).

More importantly, though, the reader experiences a sense of traumatic repetition as the image continually intrudes on and interrupts the micronarrative frames, representing and reenacting trauma through the digital image. In her article on No Towers, Karen Espiritu questions Spiegelman’s decision to digitally- render the tower’s glowing frame. Her response, that the “image of the attacks lies at the core of Spiegelman’s traumatic experience, the sheer vividness and meaning of which—try as he might to incorporate, master and contain it in all ten of his renderings of 9/11—will always already elude him” (188) does not quite address the chief issue at stake here: the image’s digital production. Spiegelman

chooses a highly-mediated, highly-synthetic mode of production precisely to comment on the ways that we have come to understand trauma in the digital age. The repetition of the mediated image replicates the spectacle’s modes of transmission and simulates the non-stop media coverage that prevented Americans from processing the event in personally-productive ways. Mimicking the institutional mediation of trauma within a politically-subversive textual space, Spiegelman produces a politically-fluid, rather than static, traumatic encounter.

Furthermore, the digital image reminds us of our detachment from the Real, particularly as it relates to our political and economic environment—the tower operating as the chief symbol for American hegemony and global commerce. The image functions more specifically as a variation on Vincent Mosco’s notion of “the digital sublime.” Whereas Mosco describes the digital sublime as a result of the individual’s encounter with technology and the awe- inspiring mythology of progress associated with it, my reading of the digital sublime posits the sublime experience as the result of the inseparability of fantasy and the Real as a result of mediation. As we encounter the glowing tower over and over again in the pages of No Towers, we, too, are continually reminded— through the traumatic repetition of the visual spectacle—of the extent to which the spectacle shapes, dictates, and produces our modes of understanding and interpreting the world.

In “Welcome to the Desert of the Real,” Slavoj Zizek famously challenges the claim that the attacks on the World Trade Center represent an intrusion of the

Real, a dissolution of the fabric of the hyperreal.³ He writes:
We should…invert the standard reading according to which the WTC explosions were the intrusion of the Real which shattered our illusory sphere: quite the reverse—it was before the WTC collapse that we lived in our reality, perceiving Third World horrors as something which was not actually part of our social reality, as something which existed (for us) as a spectral apparition on the (TV) screen—and what happened on September 11 was that this fantasmatic screen apparition entered our reality. It is not that reality entered our image: the image entered and shattered our reality (i.e. the symbolic coordinates which determine what we experience as reality). (16)

This passage helps to explain the function of the glowing tower in Spiegelman’s text. Rather than attempting to circumvent the mediated channels that inform our experience of reality, the image of the glowing tower—in its digital reproduction—presents itself as a hypermediated component of the spectacle. The only way to confront the spectacle—to “shatter our reality”—is to expose the violence of the mediated image and, in this case, its ability to produce the traumatic encounter.

³ It is this brand of thinking that would lead pundits to declare that the age of irony is over. Seeing the falling of the towers as the symbolic end to postmodernity ignores the manner by which the spectacle reinforced itself in the months after the attacks. The national response to the attacks made clear that, if anything, irony would be more necessary now than ever before.

Through Spiegelman’s repetition of the glowing tower, we can begin to understand the substance of trauma in the age of globalization and digitization. Again I look to Zizek: “we should not mistake reality for fiction—we should be able to discern, in what we experience as fiction, the hard kernel of the Real which we are able to sustain only if we fictionalize it. In short, we should discern which part of reality is ‘transfunctionalized’ through fantasy, so that, although it is part of reality, it is perceived in a fictional mode” (19). Spiegelman uses the digital image as a “fictional mode,” one that, in its overtly synthetic appearance, mediates and therefore buffers the raw experience of the Real. What is significant about this process is the way that Spiegelman’s fictional mode, itself an attempt to communicate trauma, actually makes evident the more complex and traumatic relationship between the individual and the mediated environment of the twenty- first century; the more insidious threat than the specter of global terrorism, Spiegelman would have us believe—and the one which permeates every page of No Towers—is the relationship between politics and mediation (and the processes of narrativization embedded within it), processes that ultimately deprive us of political agency. Thus, while the glowing tower on a personal level signifies Spiegelman’s attempts to communicate the trauma of witnessing the towers fall on September 11^th, the fictional mode of the digital image speaks to a far more disturbing component of the mediated spectacle; the digital image reveals the spectacle’s capacity for transmitting trauma and determining the modes by which we process trauma.

By deconstructing and fragmenting the mediated presence in No Towers, through both the image of the glowing tower and his textual apparatus, Spiegelman simulates the traumatic encounter, allowing the reader to experience trauma as an immersive, rather than descriptive, event. In the absence of conventional narrative structuring, the reader encounters the book’s textual arrangement as a highly-mediated arena of discourse, one which simulates the experience of trauma and space. It might be worthwhile to step back for a moment to discuss the relationship between narrative and space, a concept explored by philosopher Michel de Certeau in many of his writings. De Certeau describes the experience of space as the experience of narrative; we organize and understand physical spaces in the same way we organize and understand narrative.⁴ He writes:

In modern Athens, the vehicles of mass transportation are called metaphorai. To go to work or come home, one takes a “metaphor”—a bus or a train. Stories could also take this noble name: every day, they traverse and organize places; they select and link them together; they make sentences and itineraries out of them. They are spatial trajectories. (115)

⁴ De Certeau’s commentary on spatiality in large part draws from the writings of Henri Lefebvre, his predecessor in spatial theory. In The Production of Space, Lefebvre argues that space is produced through social interaction and lived experience. Spatial practices offer resistance to capitalism and its inscription on urban space, and by producing space, we generate nodes of resistance within an

otherwise dominant power structure.

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By offering a number of spatial trajectories, each, by itself, undercut by the presence of mediation, Spiegelman produces a spatial environment that offers the reader political mobility. To use a media analogy, we could say that he replaces our old-school television antenna, which picked up only one channel, with the premium satellite package, which now gives us hundreds of channels and a wide array of political perspectives (in stunning HD!). Spiegelman similarly realizes the potential to create immersive textual environments through narrative. We look again to de Certeau: “space is a practiced place…an act of reading is the space produced by the practice of a particular place: a written text, i.e., a place constituted by a system of signs” (117). Spiegelman’s fragmented textual presentation complicates this process. When we, as readers, enter the textual space of No Towers, we immersively practice the text, producing narrative space through our interaction with the various frames that make up each broadsheet.

By seeing No Towers as an immersive spatial environment, we can better understand the ways that Spiegelman both simulates the experience of the mediated spectacle and provides us with agency and mobility as we attempt to create counter-narratives in an intensely mediated environment. Describing the book’s indebtedness to spatiality, Hillary Chute writes, “through the play of internal and external space, the architecture of the page splinters and enmeshes temporalities, showing how in a state of trauma, time is no longer able to be understood and chronologized” (238). Seeing the text as a spatial environment encourages us to question the temporal order of narrative and, specifically, the

legitimacy of the American master narrative of political innocence. One of Spiegelman’s chief concerns is to stop the inexorable progress of time, both as a means of confronting personal trauma and as a means of resisting the inscription of the state’s political narrative on History. “On 9/11/01 time stopped,” Spiegelman tells us, but “by 9/12/01 clocks began ticking again…” (10).

Creatively negotiating the space of the text—itself comprised of a series of simultaneous temporalities stretching from the nineteenth century to the present day—we open ourselves to a spatial encounter as opposed to a temporal one, and this helps us to resist a chronological interpretation of history, one which is intrinsically caught up in the politics of narrativization.

Moving between temporalities, narratives, and media allows us to produce spaces of political agency and mobility and, subsequently, generate valuable counter-narratives that challenge the dominant discourse surrounding 9/11. One of the charges levied against No Towers is that its polemical, highly-political approach never rises above mere diatribe against the politics of the Bush administration. Spiegelman’s formal stylistics suggest otherwise. In challenging the notion of a stable, mediated, linear narrative of 9/11, he opens the door to counter-narratives that help to deconstruct the machinery of the spectacle.

Treating the text as a spatial environment allows us to put de Certeau’s ideas into effect in even more radical ways than he had imagined; as we practice space—as we move between the frames of No Towers—we create and sustain narratives of our own making, narratives loosed from even Spiegelman’s narrative authority.

Reading becomes a creative practice in which we confront and understand trauma as a personal experience that stands apart from the processes of mediation and narrativization that often manufacture trauma for political purposes. In deconstructing the relationship between media, trauma, and narrative, Spiegelman’s book both pulls back the veil covering the political Real and gives us ways of contesting its political makeup.