Writer and visual artist Aubrey Hirsch knows Clarence Thomas won’t be reading Graphic Rage – and that’s fine. Her new book isn’t meant to convert opponents; it aims to witness, validate, and give readers a steadier sense that they’re not alone.
That purpose feels urgent. Hirsch knows what it’s like to write and create under constant dread. Though relatively new to visual art – a vulnerability that strengthens the work – she is a well-established writer (a 2022 NEA Creative Writing Fellow). That balance lets Graphic Rage move between policy breakdowns and emotional vignettes, using spare text and layered visuals to render conversations that shape Hirsch’s life and the lives of many women.
Aubrey sat down with Vol. 1 Brooklyn to discuss her creation process, and what it was like doing research for Graphic Rage…
How do you decide what to create, especially with heavy topics like abortion and sexual assault statistics? How do you approach color schemes for panels or cells?
I’m definitely still new to visual art, so you’ll notice a mix of styles in the book because I’m still learning, and each project is a chance to try something new. Sometimes, the image and text come together naturally. During research, I might think, “I can use an image to show a graph or illustrate a number.” For example, if it’s one in 25, I’ll draw 25 things and make one stand out to make the number tangible. If I have a phrase and need an image, I consider what else it needs. Images can add information or emotional context. If the text is dry, I’ll use the image to evoke feeling and show why the information matters. Color is challenging for me. I use online color palette generators; you press the spacebar, and it gives you five random colors. If I like one, I lock it in, and it generates four more that match. I rely on that a lot.
I think readers will appreciate knowing you’re not an expert going into it; it’s like part of the journey of the book itself. I’m still processing all the information in it. How did you organize everything, like the chapters, the graphics, and all the content? What was that process like?
It was a long process, and I owe a lot to my editors. The first step was sitting down – my partner helped too; he’s a great editor – and deciding what would go in the book. A lot of work I’m proud of didn’t make it because it wasn’t on-topic or felt too tied to a specific moment, like pre-Roe v. Wade being overturned. That world feels so different now, so a lot of that had to be cut.
That brings me right to my next question about how much was changing around you as you were prepping the book. Did you find that as you were putting the book together, you were like, “Damn, I need to get this book out ASAP?”
Yeah, for sure. I mean, even as I was putting the book together, so much had changed so fast that a lot of the comics that I’d done about reproductive freedom had already shifted. Then, they shifted again. And I’m like everybody else; I keep going back and forth. Sometimes I feel really just totally hopeless. And I look at the [Supreme Court] and I look at the ages of the people who are there, and find myself guessing about their blood pressure or whatever. That all feels really scary. Especially the idea of some of these older Republican justices retiring in these next couple of years, and getting replaced by younger, worse people. That’s terrifying and I definitely spend a decent amount of time feeling like, oh my God, we’re so screwed. But Jon Lovett has this great quote; he says, “Screwed is a spectrum, and you can be more screwed.” It’s not a binary state, like we’re screwed or we’re not. And I try to keep that in mind, that screwed is a spectrum.
I like that. There’s one particular segment in Graphic Rage about the Comstock Rule…
Oh yeah.
And that having to do sort of with the [birth control/abortion pill] mifepristone, am I right about this?
Yes. You’re 100% right.
And it evolves around mail ordering as a means of criminalizing it?
The Comstock Act is frightening. Arizona’s abortion ban traces back to an 1864 law that predates statehood and women’s suffrage, and some have tried to enforce it again since Roe v. Wade was overturned. These moves, like reviving Comstock, feel like dirty tricks; politicians know such restrictions are unpopular and that a majority support a woman’s right to choose. Still, they keep trying every tactic they can, and we must resist. What’s particularly alarming about the Comstock Act is its broad scope: it could be applied to many different things.
It’s a federal law that broadly covers items sent through the mail, but its language is vague.
Right. It can be applied to anything deemed “lewd” or otherwise prohibited. That’s the danger: even in states where abortion is legal, supplies need to be shipped. Under a broad reading of Comstock, even surgical gloves or other medical items could be targeted. Comstock was unpopular in its own time, yet now some want to revive it.
Was putting this kind of information – information like the Comstock Act – and making it digestible and “fun to read” your end goal with Graphic Rage?
Sure. People sometimes ask, “What’s the biggest mindset shift you were hoping for?” That’s not really it for me; I know Clarence Thomas and Ben Shapiro aren’t going to read this book, and most readers will already agree with me. My goal is simpler: I want people to feel seen and validated. I want anyone who’s feeling like I do to know they’re not alone. Maybe there are things in the book you didn’t know before, or facts you can use in an argument. The feedback I love most is when someone emails to say, “Thank you, this made me feel better, helped me understand, or helped me explain things to my partner, boss, or sibling.” That means a lot, because we all want to be understood. If I can give someone that chance, it feels really good.
Do you feel like the comic format has broadened who you’re trying to reach or how you’re trying to reach, I mean, because you’re using words plus visuals, right?
Definitely. It’s a great way to take a big, complicated idea, break it down, and make it feel accessible. Visuals help a lot, and comics are shorter – you can add humor without disrupting the tone and still get your point across. I do think it makes these ideas accessible to a wider audience.
That’s interesting given your essay background and MFA in creative writing – all those words, then boiling things down to as few words as possible. Was that transition challenging? Did you ever wonder, “Why am I suddenly doing comics?”
For sure. The first comics I made were like visual short stories and personal essays. The first piece that really departed from that was for The Nib: I pitched a comic about street harassment and they wanted it not to be about me. I didn’t know how to do that, but an editor, Shay Mirk, patiently walked me through interviewing people and doing the research. After that I saw how powerful comics are for engaging readers; people will sit with a 15-panel comic who might not read a 3,000-word essay. It felt like a way to get ideas out there, spark conversations, and encourage people to share them. I wanted to do something to push back against that feeling of hopelessness; this was a concrete way I could help steer the ship.
So the accessibility, format, and reactions… these were the impetus for the book?
Yes. Also, I’d produced a lot of pieces, and people would message asking, “When are you making a book?” It felt intimidating, but then an editor reached out asking if I’d consider collecting them, and I realized I’d thought about it a lot.
What’s your artistic and editing process like when you’re working with so much relevant information? Do you rabbithole a lot?
It depends on what I’m making. Usually I’m starting out with just the research. When I want to learn something, I set out to learn everything I can. Often that leads me down dead ends, but I know I’ve found the right topic when my reading makes me angrier and more motivated to write about it. I begin by compiling a large document: copy-pasting notes and links to every source so I can keep citations organized. That document often becomes 20–25 pages, which I then distill into a short piece; sometimes as few as 20 sentences
Then you have to pare it down even more, especially the words; you need to make room for the visuals.
Right. There isn’t much space. The most helpful part of my process is talking it through with my partner. I’ll say, “I have to tell you about this,” which forces me to explain the idea and gives it shape. I notice his reactions – if he makes a face or says “oh,” I mark that – because it helps me see what lands. From there it’s mostly about cutting: even if everything is interesting, it’s more likely people will read and care if it’s shorter.
There’s one scene in the book where you recall getting catcalled. When you get into those scenes, do you get emotional in your head as you’re writing and drawing them? Does it feel like you’re being catcalled again or anything?
Absolutely. I get fired up about so much of what I’m working on, whether I’m researching, talking about it, writing, or drawing. I take it all very seriously and personally. I wish I had thicker skin, but catcalling still sucks every time. You don’t truly get used to it. You expect it and prepare for it, and it affects your life – like what I wear if I know I’ll be on the subway. It always bothers me.
I definitely felt I was reeling from all the revelations in your book afterward. Is that what you were hoping for, Aubrey? For me to reel?!
I definitely hope people have a similar experience. I know most readers of feminist comics will already align with me, so I don’t expect to change minds. But I hope they pick it up thinking they know what it’s about, and then, like I do when researching, they’ll think, “Oh my God, this is worse than I thought,” or discover something new that resonates even more.