Jean-Christophe Menu is a cartoonist, an editor, a critic, but is best known as co-founder of the seminal alternative publishing house L'Association in 1990. Formed by Menu, Lewis Trondheim, David B., Mattt Konture, Patrice Killoffer, Stanislas Barthélémy & Frédéric "Mokeït" Van Linden, L'Association not only breathed new life into a moribund French comics culture, but has been credited with redefining the very medium of comics. And the combative ideologue Menu is often described as the primary driving force - to a certain extent, the captain who steered the ship.
However, the collaboration among the founders became strained, ultimately imploding around 2006. A great deal has been written about the crisis at L'Association, including Matthias Wivel’s informative two-part article for TCJ (Part I and Part II) from 2011. In Wivel’s account of the events, the first to depart was David B., who accused Menu of acting like a dictator. Dissatisfaction also stemmed from the fact that Menu was the only founder drawing a salary. Shortly afterward, it was discovered that L'Association was bleeding financially, having lived beyond its means for several years. Employees expressed their discontent with the company’s management by going on strike, drawing public attention when they left L'Association’s booth completely empty during the festival at Angoulême in 2011. Criticisms of Menu’s leadership included his decision to lay off half of the staff in an effort to salvage the company’s battered finances. In the end, the situation became untenable, leading Menu to resign. Instead, he launched his own publishing house, L'Apocalypse, which he recently revitalized after a period of limited activity.
Glimpses of L'Association’s internal strife are also documented in the founders’ own comics. When Lewis Trondheim portrays their collaboration in Approximate Continuum Comics, Menu is depicted as grumpy, choleric, and unable to hold his liquor. In one particularly memorable scene, a heavily intoxicated Menu disrupts an editorial meeting by attempting to strike Trondheim and the others in the face with the office’s dirty toilet brush. Menu, for his part, has done little to polish this image in his own autobiographical work. His volcanic temper is a recurring theme, with humor emerging each time Menu’s cartoon avatar is faced with a situation that causes him to lose his temper, often with red wine filling the belly underneath his striped French sailor shirt. This garment has become synonymous with Menu–regardless of whether he draws himself or is drawn by others–and is complemented by his unruly hair and a long scarf that blows nonchalantly in the wind: the epitome of a Rive Gauche intellectual as seen from abroad. The only noticeable change that signifies the passage of time is the receding hairline depicted in his comics.
The self-taught Menu first made a name for himself on the alternative comics scene in France during the 1980s. He was a dedicated fanzine creator before achieving a minor breakthrough with the 1988 album Meder (Futuropolis) about an escapee from a mental hospital. The content can best be described as an entertaining indulgence in senseless violence, drawn in a slightly edgy and punkish style. During his time at L'Association, Menu published, among other things, Gnognottes (1999), which collects some of his more experimental and fictional comics. Notable among his later works is Lock Groove Comix, a 2008-09 L'Association series compiled by Fluide glacial in 2017, which is a deep dive into the music-interested Menu’s record collection, wherein a particular song or album is associated with a personal memory.
A constant through large parts of his career is his fanzine Mune Comix, where several of his works first saw the light of day. Furthermore, through L'Association, he has published significant critical writing such as the industry jeremiad Plates-bandes (2005) and La Bande dessinée et son double (2011), an edition of his doctoral dissertation at the Sorbonne, which is frequently quoted in academic research. Alongside his advocacy for alternative comics, Menu has occasionally contributed to mainstream outlets like Journal de Spirou, for reasons detailed in his recent prose collection Krollebitches (Les Impressions nouvelles, 2017); among other things, Menu writes that it was the sight of the cover to issue 1586 of Spirou, from 1968, that sparked his interest in comics. He will discuss this and further topics below.
At Menu's request, this interview was conducted through email. All questions and responses were made in English.
ROBERT AMAN: Let’s begin with a broad question. Can you summarize your career? Where you are now, and where do you intend to go?
JEAN-CHRISTOPHE MENU: Well, I suppose I have more of my journey behind me than ahead. Ain’t that fun!
But, more seriously, summarizing my career… Born in 1964. Released my first zine in 1982. Published my first book that was not self-published in 1987. My most recent book, Couacs au Mont-Vérité [Dargaud], was in 2021. I have four kids, asthma, and psoriasis.
You were born in Amiens, France. Tell me a little about your childhood and your parents. I know that your mother was a renowned Egyptologist.
I was indeed born in Amiens, a rather dull city in the north of France, but I never actually lived there. I grew up in Versailles, which was even more tedious. People there carried themselves as if they were royalty, and it was a very right-wing environment.
In the mid 1970s, the first school I attended was one of the last public schools to be gender-segregated, admitting only boys. Perhaps that toughened me up a bit, as I wasn’t into typical “boy” activities and had to stand up for myself. Knowing how to draw could be quite useful if you didn’t know how to fight. Like many cartoonists, I was the shy kid who preferred solitude, hated sports, and enjoyed puzzles. I was also an only child, which added to the overall boredom and led me to construct an elaborate imaginary world. For a long time, I believed that these aspects of my life were connected, until I met others like me who had siblings!
My mother was an Egyptologist, and her work was quite fascinating. I grew up surrounded by hieroglyphics, pyramids, and mummies, all of which you can find in my comics - no surprise there. My father was an engineer who wanted me to study mathematics instead of pursuing a literary path. Unfortunately, I was as terrible at math as I was at sports.
What comics did you read while growing up? Was there anything, in particular, that inspired you to create your own comics?
The truth is, I was drawn to comics from an early age. I vividly remember reading them, even if I didn’t fully understand the French words at the time. I could grasp a significant part of the content, and if I needed help with understanding a word balloon, I would turn to my mother. The succession of panels is a language, a grammar. When you glance at the pages, you instantly comprehend much of what is happening. That’s why, when you pick up a comic at the bookstore, you already have a sense of what to expect. Even when I read foreign comics today, I still experience this semi-reading. I don’t necessarily need to understand Catalan or Finnish to discern if it falls into the mainstream or the underground, if the style is conventional, or if a distinctive new voice is behind it. There have been instances where, as a publisher, I decided to translate the work of certain cartoonists into French before fully comprehending the text and its nuances. This is why I confidently assert that comics is my first language; French comes second, but it could have been any other language. Comics Nation!
Apart from reading and drawing comics during your youth, what other interests or activities did you engage in? You’re a passionate music enthusiast.
Indeed, I started with mainstream radio “hit parades” featuring commercial pop music, and over time, I transitioned into exploring more obscure pop-rock-garage-punk bands. It’s an endless quest! Vinyl records and books are my primary source of nourishment. Lock Groove Comix revolves around my vinyl collection and obsession, as well as music. I had the pleasant surprise that it could be enjoyable reading even if the reader isn’t familiar with the obscure bands I was discussing. I even talked about the Beatles.
When and why did you decide to pursue a career in comics?
I could have said it just happened, but truthfully, I made a decision! At the age of eight, I dismissed everything I had done before and boldly declared that I was going to be a “professional.” Back then, it probably meant things like putting arms at the shoulder level of characters instead of in the middle of the body. As a kid, I was quite prolific - creating small albums, establishing a “publishing” brand complete with its logo, and even developing various “collections”. I printed my first zine at 17, in 1982, alongside my friend Pierre “Polo” Lamy. During that period, it featured a crude humor influenced by Gotlib and Fluide glacial. Later, in 1987, Futuropolis published my first book [Le Portrait de Lurie Ginol].
Given your admiration for classical Belgian comics, do you remember how you you felt when you got published in Tintin and Spirou? Was more of a “mainstream” career a possibility back then?
When I published in these two magazines, I was already involved in “indie” and experimental comics. So, it was more of a means of making a living than a career aspiration. In the case of Tintin, I created a sort of historical and didactical four-page comic. It wasn’t my usual style, but I saw it as an experiment or challenge.
Spirou, on the other hand, was a bigger deal to me because it had been a childhood dream. I published short stories and strips in Spirou between 1993 and 1996. I was very pleased, but it became apparent that my work was already considered too unconventional for Spirou. Many of my scripts were declined, and I quickly lost motivation. In 1996, I had a six-page comic and even made the cover. I thought, “Okay, dream accomplished, what’s next?” because by then, I was deeply involved with L'Association and my own publishing endeavors.
You may be tired of speaking about L'Asso at this point but please, in your own words, can you describe the genesis of L'Asso? What was your mission?
As always, I must emphasize how dire the landscape of French comics publishing had become in the late '80s, especially considering the significant creative explosion and freedom of the '70s. It was becoming increasingly mainstream and standardized, with little room for novelty and experimentation.
My journey led me from Spirou and Tintin, through Métal hurlant, Fluide glacial, Hara-Kiri, Artefact and Futuropolis, and then I felt the next step was to write. That’s what we did. Between 1985 and 1990, I transitioned from the idea of a “fanzine” to that of an “avant-garde.” I was deeply immersed in Dada, Surrealism, Situationists, OuLiPo, and more. The main concept was to export these ideas and structures into the realm of comics. That’s what the one and only issue of Labo [a Futuropolis anthology containing work by, among others, all of the L'Association founders, 1990] attempted initially, and L'Association was founded the same year as its own nonprofit entity. At the beginning, it truly wasn’t a “mission”! We thought it would remain a hobby, with small print runs, a few books a year, a Sunday activity. That was somewhat the case for the first three years.
Then Slaloms by Trondheim [1993] changed the game a bit. This album was innovative in its style but was “understandable” by a broader audience. It won an Angoulême award and garnered numerous reviews, forcing us to reprint it. Suddenly, we were no longer just a bizarre underground collective, but a new publisher capable of renewing the field of comics. This marked the beginning of a sort of mission: to challenge the mainstream and academicism. However, we were a group, and didn’t always agree on the boundaries of these ideas, and they evolved over the years.
What are you most proud of when it comes to L'Association?
Well… It might be the evidence that you can start from scratch and succeed, even creating a bestseller like Persepolis [serialized in four volumes at L'Association, 2000-03], without compromising your integrity. More specifically, what brings me joy, more than pride, are certain books, friendships, and memories. It was an incredible journey - a significant part of my life. What more can I say in just a few sentences?
How would you describe your exit from L'Association?
Arguments among the founders arose very soon. What initially strengthened us also quickly became our weakness: our significant differences among the six of us.1 At one point, Trondheim and David B. opposed publishing certain experiments that were not pure narrative comics, which I increasingly wanted to pursue. For instance, La Grande famiglia by Thomas Ott and Gila [1998], a sort of crossover between drawing, photography and roman noir. The success of Persepolis indicated that it wasn’t a matter of money–we had money for a while–but rather an ideological issue; we no longer agreed on what direction to take. This led to a major clash in 2006, causing the group of founders to disband, and I took sole control of L'Asso’s decisions. For about five years, I could publish whatever I wanted without constant arguments or compromises. I must admit those were my best years, 2006-2010, when I published my favorite work at L'Asso, including the L’Éprouvette critical anthology [2006-07], a new quarterly series of Lapin focused on young cartoonists [2009-11], the Bitterkomix anthology from South Africa [2009], the collective catalog for the Toy Comix exhibition at the Musée des Arts décoratifs in Paris [2007], Henriette Valium’s best-of collection [Ab bédex compilato, 2007], and more. However, being the sole decision-maker also meant I became the boss of eight people, and I was a better publisher than a boss. New types of arguments emerged, this time with the staff. A crisis ensued, culminating in a strike at Angoulême in 2011. The founders took advantage of this crisis to return with a vengeful attitude. It was a dead-end situation, and I decided to resign, which no one anticipated.
What’s your current relationship with the other founders? Any awkwardness when you run into them?
It’s a bit of a fluctuating situation. I can reconcile with some for a while and then find myself upset again. Take Killoffer, for example; we were enemies because he can be unbearable, but now we’re friends, even though he’s still unbearable. Fortunately, I’ve never had significant issues with Stanislas and Mattt Konture; we’ve had 40 years of friendship. On the other hand, my disagreements with David B. and Lewis [Trondheim] are longstanding, and naturally, we have less and less in common. Trondheim is a mainstream guy who uses L'Asso as an underground alibi. He even played the clown with President Macron for the local press in Angoulême, and it’ll probably take me 10 years to digest that one! Ha ha ha.
Do you believe that L'Association remains L'Association without you, or has it become something akin to the current Futuropolis, which bears no resemblance to the previous publishing house with the same name?
It is strange to me: they retained all my layouts, logos, and collection names that I consider very personal to me. For instance, the “ette” thing [a titling convention used in L'Association's collection labels: Ciboulette, Mimolette] is mine! When I see what they’re publishing, it gives the impression that I’m gone, and something I used to do is carrying on. I don’t think I’m being unfair in saying that L'Association today is a shadow of its former self. Fewer books, weaker choices, fewer discoveries, less innovation, and not enough young cartoonists. However, I was pleased that they allowed me to manage Julie Doucet’s Maxiplotte in 2021. This was thanks to Killoffer, who has also been let go by the others and the staff, so the arguments weren’t solely my fault! It’s a different evolution compared to Futuropolis, which is a label that had its name taken by others [i.e., the 'mainstream' publisher Éditions Soleil]. In the case of L'Asso, the company is growing old with some of the same people. And I’m concerned that L'Asso’s readers are also growing old too.
What are you most proud of when it comes to L'Asso?
Well… Could it be the proof that you can start from nowhere and succeed, even creating a bestseller like Persepolis, without losing your authenticity? More concretely, what brings me joy (perhaps even more than pride?) are specific books, cherished friendships, and fond memories. It has been a remarkable adventure - 21 years of my life. What more can I say in just a few sentences!
You’re a scholar, critic, cartoonist, plus other things. With what do you predominately identify?
I would say my identity is in this mix - publishing, designing, cartooning, writing. These are different aspects of what I'm capable of and invest in, and each facet nourishes the others. This results from my tendency to quickly grow bored with anything and my inability to concentrate on just one thing.
What made you pursue a PhD in comics?
I began my academic journey at 19, studying “Arts Plastiques” at Sorbonne in Paris. This field was created after May ‘68 by dissidents from both Fine Arts and Aesthetics who aimed to integrate theory and practice, a novel idea at the time. It carried a strong leftist spirit. As it was an experimental course, the teaching took place in an old factory in the 15th arrondissement. When I arrived there with my friend Pierre Lamy (we made the fanzine Lynx à Tifs together), it looked like a squat... It was graffiti everywhere, punks, old hippies as teachers, and they played Bérurier noir [a French anarcho-punk band from the '80s] in the cafeteria. It was chaos. So, we decided to enroll, and it changed my life!
The thesis was supposed to conclude this a few years later, but my director retired, and I was left in limbo. Two decades later, I decided to complete this task. Firstly, because I don’t like leaving things unfinished. Secondly, as a gesture of gratitude to the educational journey that was crucial for me (without it, I might have remained a comics enthusiast forever). Thirdly, I believed my reflections on the comics field and my own work would be far more insightful than they were 20 years prior. However, my intention was not to become a university lecturer, which is typically the primary motive for pursuing a PhD. Besides, I was already too old anyway.
A significant portion of your comics are autobiographical. What motivates you to explore this genre?
When we at L'Association decided to explore real-life storytelling in comics, it wasn't even recognized as a genre. It marked a deliberate departure from established genres such as adventure, humor, crime, and fantasy. We saw addressing real-life subjects in comics as a form of avant-garde expression. Only a few creators had ventured into intimate territory in comics before. Personally, Crumb was my primary influence. However, I also found inspiration in French classics where autobiographical elements occasionally surfaced. Gotlib’s Rubrique-à-brac had a few autobiographical pages that left a lasting impression on me as a child. [Carlos] Giménez’s Paracuellos, a portrayal of Spanish orphanage memories published in French by Fluide glacial, also made a significant impact. Both Gotlib and Crumb used themselves as characters, and I began doing the same quite early, even before my first story about a visit to Helsinki was published in the inaugural issue of Lapin.
Later on, I discovered the works of Will Eisner, Harvey Pekar, and Justin Green. [Edmond] Baudoin was also exploring a form of autofiction, and with works like Le Portrait or Couma acò, he undoubtedly delved into true autobiography in the late 1980s. Around the same time, Julie Doucet arrived from Quebec with themes that resonated deeply with me: everyday life, dreams, obsessions. It’s challenging to recall a time when autobiographical comics were considered a novelty, in the first half of the 1990s. Soon, it became a trend, and then a somewhat oversaturated trend with the advent of blogs. It also somewhat fell out of fashion. However, strong autobiographical work still exists. It’s just become a normal part of the comic landscape now.
It’s seldom a very positive picture that you paint of yourself. You often show your shortcomings and situations where your behavior is a bit erratic. What attracts you to displaying this part of your personality?
I don’t know, isn’t it funnier when something’s amiss, don’t you think? If everything was perfect, maybe we wouldn’t need cartoonists or artists… And who brags about being a good person in their comics? Give me names!
What reactions have you received for your autobiographical work? I remember that they were used in a court case related to your divorce.
That’s true, my ex-wife claimed that I depicted her insultingly, but the case was dismissed because the comics were all published during the time of our marriage. On the other hand, I was prohibited from publishing new stories about her or related to the divorce. The restriction has hindered me from creating further autobiographical work, as I never made a sequel to Livret de phamille. I also remember a disconnect between my intentions and how it was perceived: some reader found these comics very revealing whereas I conceived them as quite modest. This was particularly true for the story about the birth of my second daughter. I didn’t actually show the birth, but sometimes it was interpreted as crude. Some people were shocked, and I didn’t quite understand it. Well, that was also about 30 years ago.
Do you have any regrets regarding the content of your autobiographical comics? For instance, do you feel you went too far or not far enough?
Not really, I think I struck a balance between confession and “politeness” in a way that I can still stand by… I regret not having been able to do more. Maybe one day.
You relaunched L'Apocalypse last year. How has that been?
I had been missing publishing. Taking a break from it for eight years2 was beneficial for my creative self, but gradually, I started to long for that aspect. The magic of conceptualizing a book, witnessing it being printed on an offset machine, receiving it, and sharing it with the author... L'Apocalypse wasn’t officially closed as a company, so I decided to relaunch it. This time it’s a more solitary endeavor, and being alone can be a bit harsh, especially in the countryside.
Over the past eight years, I found the job more tedious and bureaucratic, particularly with the shift to online distribution - something I detest. Creating an Excel file is my personal hell! I had some decade-old projects that needed completion, like [French journalist and Hara-Kiri contributor] Delfeil de Ton’s chronicles (not comics): I completed Vol. 1 in 2012, Vol. 2 in 2022, and Vol. 3 in 2023. I also managed to publish Sophie Darcq’s Hanbok [2023], a debut memoir on Korea and adoption that I found as compelling as the initial wave of autobio works from L'Asso. Hanbok won the Saint-Malo award and received nominations at Angoulême; I even did a reprint. So, it’s proof that such achievements are still possible.
I recently released a drawing book by Vanoli [Aristée, 2023], and there’s more to come. I’m a bit concerned that finding time to draw might become challenging again, but, well, in the meantime, I’m less bored.
What do your tastes attract you to in comics? Differently put, what are the qualities you look for as a publisher?
Well… Nothing! I mean: what I’m looking for is just authentic personalities. Work and ideas that hadn’t been made or thought by somebody else, not inspired by, not copying someone or fitting a style or a trend… So it will be somebody who didn’t try to do something in a way to be published. He or she would just do their own thing. Seems simple! Why is it so rare?!
Despite having a few successful albums under your belt, you continue to publish fanzines. What is it about zines that still appeals to you?
Success? No, I don’t consider myself successful, and I’m okay with that. While Dargaud or Fluide glacial published my books, I don’t believe they sold as well as expected. I never decided to stop making zines, or printing greeting cards for snail mail, or providing free pages to other zines. That’s where I come from, and I’ll always be on the DIY side. Creating L'Apocalypse is just a larger-scale DIY endeavor, albeit with some troublesome aspects like distribution, press, and administration. Additionally, other publishers know that I understand the job, so they let me handle my own design and don’t try to convince me that a 56-page album is impossible.
Who are your favorite cartoonists today?
There are hundreds I could mention! However, delving into a cartoonist’s universe can be quite a journey. For instance, even though they’ve been around for decades and have a place on my bookshelves, I feel like I’m “discovering” artists like Guido Crepax, Georges Pichard, or Tony Millonnaire these days. Among the young generation, I really admire the work of Anouk Ricard and Tom Gauld.
What’s the state of the alternative comics scene in France today?
It’s paradoxical, because the indie publishing scene has never been more interesting and fragile simultaneously. There are more and more good female cartoonists, which is great. However, the financial aspect has become even more challenging post-COVID. Many people are broke, making it difficult for them to afford all the good stuff. In a way, the gap between mainstream and alternative comics has narrowed, as big publishers are now featuring alternative cartoonists. On the other hand, said gap is reverting to what it was pre-1990: traditional Franco-Belgian readers rejecting anything outside the standard “48CC.” It’s as if alternative comics are now becoming “woke”! This serves as another reminder that the mainstream readership has always existed but is always imbecilic.
Last question. When do we get to see a new album from Jean-Christophe Menu? What are you working on right now?
In fact, to share this, I need to reveal another exciting development at L'Apocalypse: together with Étienne Robial, we’re reviving the legendary 30/40 collection3 from the original Futuropolis, which was halted in 1992. He’ll continue as the editor. When I asked him which cartoonist we should start with, he gave me a panic attack by saying “Menu”. So, my upcoming book will be a part of the 30/40 collection. It’ll be a potpourri similar to Métamune [L'Apocalypse, 2014], encompassing various facets, including autobio, Couacs au Mont-Vérité, and more. I’m working on it, but there are still many pages to finish. Expect it to release in 2024. Voilà!
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The post Jean-Christophe Menu: On L’Association, the State of French Comics, and His Return As a Publisher appeared first on The Comics Journal.
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