I had read a couple of Frank Santoro's books and liked them, but in comparison to this memoir, they were more about art than anything else. The story here is about his growing up in declining Pittsburgh in the seventies and getting the hell out in the eighties, but the real focus is something he can't quite get beyond, emotionally, that his parents divorced then, almost twenty years ago.
The artwork, done with pencil and colorful markers, mixed-media in that clipped-out pieces of paper featuring figures are taped on to images that are themselves taped to the (larger) pages, feels usefully diy and sketchy and though the story is sad and reflective, has this brightly multi-colorful aura that underlines the sadness with hope. Feels to me raw, emotionally, because we see the process he went through in creating the art. The lettering is done by hand, adding to the intimacy.
I see at a glance a lot of people seem to be underwhelmed by both story and art here. It's not linear in most respects we expect in a memoir. I'm listening to the fourteen-hour long Say Nothing that is just filled with details about the Troubles in Northern Ireland and I like that a lot so far, but Pittsburgh ain't that kinda book. It's more elusive, impressionistic, emotional, as a story. Not to say Say Nothing will not get emotional for me as I keep reading. Just calling attention to its unconventional style to heighten the feelings, which for some reason reminds me of the similarly "unfinished" feel of Belgian comics artist Willy Linthout's sad story of the suicide of his son, Years of the Elephant. A human being is telling this story to you! It's not a digitized Marvel glossy story by committee, okay!?
I lived through this period, though not in Pittsburgh, so could relate to the depressed feeling of the closing of steel mills, that working class life, the suffering Dad went through in Vietnam, the divorce.
I really liked it.