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L'Ascension du Haut Mal #1-6
Epileptic
From one of Europe’s most important and innovative comics artists comes his greatest masterpiece—a stunning and emotionally resonant autobiography about growing up with an epileptic brother.
Epileptic gathers together and makes available in English for the first time all six volumes of the internationally acclaimed graphic work.
David B. was born Pierre-François Beauchard in a small town near Orléans, France. He spent an idyllic early childhood playing with the neighborhood kids and, along with his older brother, Jean-Christophe, ganging up on his little sister, Florence. But their lives changed abruptly when Jean-Christophe was struck with epilepsy at age eleven. In search of a cure, their parents dragged the family to acupuncturists and magnetic therapists, to mediums and macrobiotic communes. But every new cure ended in disappointment as Jean-Christophe, after brief periods of remission, would only get worse.
Angry at his brother for abandoning him and at all the quacks who offered them false hope, Pierre-François learned to cope by drawing fantastically elaborate battle scenes, creating images that provide a fascinating window into his interior life. An honest and horrifying portrait of the disease and of the pain and fear it sowed in the family, Epileptic is also a moving depiction of one family’s intricate history. Through flashbacks, we are introduced to the stories of Pierre-François’s grandparents and we relive his grandfathers’ experiences in both World Wars. We follow Pierre-François through his childhood, adolescence, and adulthood, all the while charting his complicated relationship with his brother and Jean-Christophe”s losing battle with epilepsy. Illustrated with beautiful and striking black-and-white images, Epileptic is as astonishing, intimate, and heartbreaking as the best literary memoir.
Contents:
Tome 1, 1996, pp. 1-52
Tome 2, 1997, pp. 53-112
Tome 3, 1998, pp. 113-164
Tome 4, 1999, pp. 165-216
Tome 5, 2000, pp. 217-276
Tome 6, 2003, pp. 277-362
Epileptic gathers together and makes available in English for the first time all six volumes of the internationally acclaimed graphic work.
David B. was born Pierre-François Beauchard in a small town near Orléans, France. He spent an idyllic early childhood playing with the neighborhood kids and, along with his older brother, Jean-Christophe, ganging up on his little sister, Florence. But their lives changed abruptly when Jean-Christophe was struck with epilepsy at age eleven. In search of a cure, their parents dragged the family to acupuncturists and magnetic therapists, to mediums and macrobiotic communes. But every new cure ended in disappointment as Jean-Christophe, after brief periods of remission, would only get worse.
Angry at his brother for abandoning him and at all the quacks who offered them false hope, Pierre-François learned to cope by drawing fantastically elaborate battle scenes, creating images that provide a fascinating window into his interior life. An honest and horrifying portrait of the disease and of the pain and fear it sowed in the family, Epileptic is also a moving depiction of one family’s intricate history. Through flashbacks, we are introduced to the stories of Pierre-François’s grandparents and we relive his grandfathers’ experiences in both World Wars. We follow Pierre-François through his childhood, adolescence, and adulthood, all the while charting his complicated relationship with his brother and Jean-Christophe”s losing battle with epilepsy. Illustrated with beautiful and striking black-and-white images, Epileptic is as astonishing, intimate, and heartbreaking as the best literary memoir.
Contents:
Tome 1, 1996, pp. 1-52
Tome 2, 1997, pp. 53-112
Tome 3, 1998, pp. 113-164
Tome 4, 1999, pp. 165-216
Tome 5, 2000, pp. 217-276
Tome 6, 2003, pp. 277-362
362 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1996
167 people are currently reading
9782 people want to read
About the author
David B.
133 books201 followersPierre-François Beauchard, who uses the pen name David B., was one of the initiators of the French alternative editorial house L'Association, and is now well-known among the French comics audience. After his Applied Arts studies, David B. had his first publications in magazines such as Chic, Circus, Okapi and A Suivre. Among his early creations are 'Le Timbre Maudit', a story published in Okapi, and 'the mini-series 'Zèbre' in Chic. As a scenarist, he cooperated with Olivier Legan on 'Pas de Samba pour Capitaine Tonnerre', an album published by Glénat in 1985.
After he co-founded L'Association in 1990, he began using the pseudonym David B. and specialized in short black-and-white stories, detailing nightmarish dreams, collected in the album 'Le Cheval Blême' in 1992. As powerful as his dream imagery is in itself, it is amplified by his masterful use of black and white drawings. In the Association's magazine Lapin, he published series like 'Le Prophète Voilé', 'Le Jardin Armé' and 'Le Voyage de l'Est'. From 1996, Beauchard has concentrated on the autobiographical series 'L'Ascension du Haut-Mal', which earned him the highest praise from comics critics.
In addition to his work for L'Association, David B. cooperated with the publishing house Cornélius, where he published the quarterly comic book Le Nain Jaune from 1993 to 1994, as well as 'Les Quatre Savants' from 1996 to 1998. He was also present in the reviews Fusée and Le Cheval sans Tête (with 'Les Incidents de la Nuit'). Also present at Dargaud, he made 'Le Tengû Carré', an allegory of Japanese legends, and the scenarios of 'La Révolte d'Hop Frog' and 'Les Ogres', which were illustrated by Christophe Blain. For the publisher's collection Poisson Pilote, he made 'Urani - la Ville des Mauvais Rêves' (script by Joann Sfar) and 'Les Chercheurs de Trésor'.
After May 2000 David B's work would reach a wider public when his artwork was featured in the collection Aire Libre by the popular publisher Dupuis. After 'Le Capitaine Écarlate' (with artwork by Emmanuel Guibert) in 2000, David wrote and drew the album 'La Lecture des Ruines' in 2001. David B has also been active as an illustrator for Le Seuil, Automne 67, Albin Michel and Coconino Press.
After he co-founded L'Association in 1990, he began using the pseudonym David B. and specialized in short black-and-white stories, detailing nightmarish dreams, collected in the album 'Le Cheval Blême' in 1992. As powerful as his dream imagery is in itself, it is amplified by his masterful use of black and white drawings. In the Association's magazine Lapin, he published series like 'Le Prophète Voilé', 'Le Jardin Armé' and 'Le Voyage de l'Est'. From 1996, Beauchard has concentrated on the autobiographical series 'L'Ascension du Haut-Mal', which earned him the highest praise from comics critics.
In addition to his work for L'Association, David B. cooperated with the publishing house Cornélius, where he published the quarterly comic book Le Nain Jaune from 1993 to 1994, as well as 'Les Quatre Savants' from 1996 to 1998. He was also present in the reviews Fusée and Le Cheval sans Tête (with 'Les Incidents de la Nuit'). Also present at Dargaud, he made 'Le Tengû Carré', an allegory of Japanese legends, and the scenarios of 'La Révolte d'Hop Frog' and 'Les Ogres', which were illustrated by Christophe Blain. For the publisher's collection Poisson Pilote, he made 'Urani - la Ville des Mauvais Rêves' (script by Joann Sfar) and 'Les Chercheurs de Trésor'.
After May 2000 David B's work would reach a wider public when his artwork was featured in the collection Aire Libre by the popular publisher Dupuis. After 'Le Capitaine Écarlate' (with artwork by Emmanuel Guibert) in 2000, David wrote and drew the album 'La Lecture des Ruines' in 2001. David B has also been active as an illustrator for Le Seuil, Automne 67, Albin Michel and Coconino Press.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 751 reviews
October 27, 2012
David B's "Epileptic" turns out to be a frustrating read for some of us with epilepsy. I respect the author's experience, but shudder at the idea of the inexperienced forming conclusions about epileptics based on his feelings toward his brother (presented as "the" titular, as if exemplary, epileptic). More personally, B's exasperation with his brother chimes with the desperate denial I know I sometimes engage in in the face of an onrushing seizure: I can overcome it if I just fight the shocks and shakes. Then, the next thing I know, I'm breathless, speechless, & unable to call for help. This wishful thinking--"fight it!"--is helpful neither to epileptics nor to the people around them.
November 2, 2017
One of the great graphic books, the story of David B.'s brother's diagnosis of epilepsy in the seventies. You feel the desperation and despair of the family as the seek cure after cure to no avail (My son has autism and I felt the same desperation and despair). Another key aspect of the book is David's attempts to capture his brother's experience of seizures in artistic terms, with amazing black and white drawing. Dark, sad, and thrilling.
March 1, 2010
Throughout history epileptics have been maligned. Even today they are mistreated in hospitals and misunderstood by community members. A lifelong epileptic having focal seizures (a type that are not generally known by laypeople like ER admissions staff), I have developed a defensive anger that hops up and shouts, or would, if the seizures didn't make thinking and moving like wading through pea soup.
This book is an amazing work of art. The story of the artist's youth with an epileptic brother is not in and of itself compelling, but if you give the first few dozen pages a chance, you could not fail to get completely absorbed in the rich levels of meaning of each panel, in corresponding the symbolism to the tale. There were panels that I thought would make perfect tattoos. I LOVED the art.
All this wondrous ink must have appeased my inner angry epileptic, taken her off guard. By the end of the book, I was sobbing for the hardship I had imposed on my friends and family by choosing to be weak in the face of adversity, by giving in to a disorder that lets me check out of life. Do not take that as an indication that this is what I have done; this is the author's viewpoint on the cause of epilepsy, at least in his brother. After reading the book yesterday I was flooded with the illusion of control. It was a good feeling for someone whose limbs randomly move against her will. I was absorbed in the story to the point where I took on ideas that contradict my most overwhelming personal experiences.
Today I am angry again. I had a not unusual experience several hours ago: a loved one sitting next to me, looking patient, holding my hand (which was jerking against that affection), saying, "You're paralyzed from a seizure, right? You can't answer me. That's okay. I'll stay here." Was there a stressor? No. Was there any part of my life that day I did not want, choose, love? No. That !@#$% artist used his considerable talent to convey the same old lie: we choose to let this monster take over our brains; we can't deal with life and so we use our illness to hide from it. That he convinced a seizure-haver to see our illness through the eyes of the skeptical seizure-watchers is rock solid proof of his talent.
I recommend this graphic novel to anyone dealing with epilepsy or other often invisible disorders. The art gives form to all of the unique and impossible-to-describe feelings that both seizure-watchers and seizure-havers deal with. The almost Mayan snake David B uses to represent the illness looks just like the snake that writhes up my spine when I seize. When the author fantasizes about switching his brain with his brother's, because the author could fight the seizures and not let them take over, he gives validation to a nagging thought many an epileptic and friend-of-epileptic has had. I want these thoughts to come out in the open, to be talked about, so they can be either beaten to a pulp or washed with dayglo never again to sneak in to relations between seizure-watchers and seizure-havers. Seeing the monster (that is the impact of epilepsy on relationships) so clearly defined, embodied in this book, has helped me to exorcise it.
But if you do not deal with epilepsy, I am not sure you will understand the art, and I am even more afraid that you be prejudiced and never able to understand epilepsy.
This book is an amazing work of art. The story of the artist's youth with an epileptic brother is not in and of itself compelling, but if you give the first few dozen pages a chance, you could not fail to get completely absorbed in the rich levels of meaning of each panel, in corresponding the symbolism to the tale. There were panels that I thought would make perfect tattoos. I LOVED the art.
All this wondrous ink must have appeased my inner angry epileptic, taken her off guard. By the end of the book, I was sobbing for the hardship I had imposed on my friends and family by choosing to be weak in the face of adversity, by giving in to a disorder that lets me check out of life. Do not take that as an indication that this is what I have done; this is the author's viewpoint on the cause of epilepsy, at least in his brother. After reading the book yesterday I was flooded with the illusion of control. It was a good feeling for someone whose limbs randomly move against her will. I was absorbed in the story to the point where I took on ideas that contradict my most overwhelming personal experiences.
Today I am angry again. I had a not unusual experience several hours ago: a loved one sitting next to me, looking patient, holding my hand (which was jerking against that affection), saying, "You're paralyzed from a seizure, right? You can't answer me. That's okay. I'll stay here." Was there a stressor? No. Was there any part of my life that day I did not want, choose, love? No. That !@#$% artist used his considerable talent to convey the same old lie: we choose to let this monster take over our brains; we can't deal with life and so we use our illness to hide from it. That he convinced a seizure-haver to see our illness through the eyes of the skeptical seizure-watchers is rock solid proof of his talent.
I recommend this graphic novel to anyone dealing with epilepsy or other often invisible disorders. The art gives form to all of the unique and impossible-to-describe feelings that both seizure-watchers and seizure-havers deal with. The almost Mayan snake David B uses to represent the illness looks just like the snake that writhes up my spine when I seize. When the author fantasizes about switching his brain with his brother's, because the author could fight the seizures and not let them take over, he gives validation to a nagging thought many an epileptic and friend-of-epileptic has had. I want these thoughts to come out in the open, to be talked about, so they can be either beaten to a pulp or washed with dayglo never again to sneak in to relations between seizure-watchers and seizure-havers. Seeing the monster (that is the impact of epilepsy on relationships) so clearly defined, embodied in this book, has helped me to exorcise it.
But if you do not deal with epilepsy, I am not sure you will understand the art, and I am even more afraid that you be prejudiced and never able to understand epilepsy.
November 29, 2015
I thought this came across as rather hostile to people with epilepsy, not to mention self-indulgent as hell. Essentially, David B. claims epilepsy ruined his childhood--not his brother's--because it was stressful for him and his sister. His sister's writing the preface instead of his brother is rather telling. He goes on and on about how difficult his childhood was for HIM and even talks very frankly about how he abused his brother: provoking seizures when he was mad at Jean-Christophe, slapping his brother while he was having seizures. He never seems to have any sympathy or empathy for his brother. Most offensive of all is his argument that epilepsy made his brother lazy and childish as he aged. He characterized his brother as a whiny idiot, as one who used his seizures to justify everything. There is no attempt on David's part to understand his brother or what he went through, which is ego-maniacal as hell if the point of this memoir was to document his brother's life with epilepsy!
Additionally, the book just did not even hold up as a comic. The artwork was ugly, the narration bland and empty--the book just failed on every level for me.
On another note, I actually have epilepsy and was offended not only by David B.'s tawdry and self-absorbed criticism, but also by the fact that this kind of stereotype is the same kind of bullshit most of us with epilepsy have to fight against: that we're lazy, ineffective, worthless, incapable, and every other lowly adjective you can think of. I'm working on my second Masters degree; I live alone and am financially independent; right now, I'm planning my summer abroad in London. Yet, by this book's logic, I and every other hardworking person who just happens to have epilepsy should be living at home as some kind of worthless moocher. I'm getting angrier with the author just typing this. And as for his brother supposedly being his own worst enemy, here's a thought: why didn't his family try to foster independence in him from the beginning? It's all in the attitude, and David's attitude toward his brother is shitty at best.
I only recommend this comic book (I refuse to use the term "graphic novel") to people who are curious about it. If you have epilepsy or a loved one with epilepsy, then you'd best avoid it; if you're like me, you'll only have constant internal eye rolls from this guy's levels of indulgence. Ugh.
Additionally, the book just did not even hold up as a comic. The artwork was ugly, the narration bland and empty--the book just failed on every level for me.
On another note, I actually have epilepsy and was offended not only by David B.'s tawdry and self-absorbed criticism, but also by the fact that this kind of stereotype is the same kind of bullshit most of us with epilepsy have to fight against: that we're lazy, ineffective, worthless, incapable, and every other lowly adjective you can think of. I'm working on my second Masters degree; I live alone and am financially independent; right now, I'm planning my summer abroad in London. Yet, by this book's logic, I and every other hardworking person who just happens to have epilepsy should be living at home as some kind of worthless moocher. I'm getting angrier with the author just typing this. And as for his brother supposedly being his own worst enemy, here's a thought: why didn't his family try to foster independence in him from the beginning? It's all in the attitude, and David's attitude toward his brother is shitty at best.
I only recommend this comic book (I refuse to use the term "graphic novel") to people who are curious about it. If you have epilepsy or a loved one with epilepsy, then you'd best avoid it; if you're like me, you'll only have constant internal eye rolls from this guy's levels of indulgence. Ugh.
October 12, 2019
Honestly, reading this made me feel so uncomfortable. I understand that this work is approximately 15 years old, so the dialogue surrounding disability is VERY different than it is today, but David B's recounting of his life with an older brother with severe epilepsy read (to me) like a very harmful ableist narrative.
Before I continue, I want to mention that there was SOME of what David said that resonated with me. I have a husband who's been chronically ill for the past two years (and undiagnosed). I know, all too well, the frustrations of living with someone who's ill. I struggle daily with feelings of compassion and resentment for my husband. It sucks having to watch someone you love suffer, but I at times feel resentment at the changes this has had on our lives and the losses we've suffered because of it. This is an issue that's difficult to be honest about and it's not fun for anyone involved.
David explores these tensions, but I found it unsatisfactory. So much time is dedicated to how his older brother's epilepsy has ruined HIS life and his brother is never given a voice (even the forward was written by his sister). He depicts his brother as a one-dimensional caricature: someone who's unmotivated and lazy; uses his illness as an excuse for bad behaviour (yiiiiikes); and is irredeemably violent. I understand that David is recounting his life as he remembers it, but it left a bad taste in my mouth that he didn't afford his brother any nuance or identity outside of his illness.
One of the only good things I can say is that I loved the art. The bold and intricate black-and-white art is striking.
I'm very disappointed because this work has been on my reader for 7+ years and in that time, I had only heard amazing things. I can see why this may have assured a spot in the comics canon when it was published, but for me, it has not aged well at all.
Before I continue, I want to mention that there was SOME of what David said that resonated with me. I have a husband who's been chronically ill for the past two years (and undiagnosed). I know, all too well, the frustrations of living with someone who's ill. I struggle daily with feelings of compassion and resentment for my husband. It sucks having to watch someone you love suffer, but I at times feel resentment at the changes this has had on our lives and the losses we've suffered because of it. This is an issue that's difficult to be honest about and it's not fun for anyone involved.
David explores these tensions, but I found it unsatisfactory. So much time is dedicated to how his older brother's epilepsy has ruined HIS life and his brother is never given a voice (even the forward was written by his sister). He depicts his brother as a one-dimensional caricature: someone who's unmotivated and lazy; uses his illness as an excuse for bad behaviour (yiiiiikes); and is irredeemably violent. I understand that David is recounting his life as he remembers it, but it left a bad taste in my mouth that he didn't afford his brother any nuance or identity outside of his illness.
One of the only good things I can say is that I loved the art. The bold and intricate black-and-white art is striking.
I'm very disappointed because this work has been on my reader for 7+ years and in that time, I had only heard amazing things. I can see why this may have assured a spot in the comics canon when it was published, but for me, it has not aged well at all.
April 25, 2012
I picked up this book purely for the title: Epileptic. As someone with epilepsy, diagnosed in my teens, I thought it would be interesting to read someone's story about their experiences with it, as literature featuring epilepsy is hard to find. I was surprised to find out that the author did not have epilepsy, but it was in fact his brother.
My mixed feelings about this book are directly related to my own feelings as someone with epilepsy. The author's brother is depicted as the eye of the storm that is the family. Everything they do is related to curing his disorder, and they really do try every quack idea I've ever heard of. Many times, Jean-Christophe is drawn as a monster that attacks the author in some way (either literally or metaphorically.) What the author truly lacks is compassion for his brother, especially as an adult. The feelings he has as a child are both realistic and understandable, but you can feel his rage and bitterness toward his brother as both of them grow older. Even as an adult he seems unable to produce any empathy for his brother, rejecting him when he attempts to get close (Jean-Christophe coming into the author's room to watch him work) but then expressing anger, disappointment and confusion when his brother then turns to other avenues to forge connections, such as political ideologies and religion.
Near the end of the book, when the author is feeling particularly low, he claims that "I'm not sick but I'm almost as bad off as you are." (319) Even as an adult, the author does not have the self-awareness to either recognize the ridiculousness of that statement, or at least adding a caveat to explain that yes, he feels terrible, but he realizes that no, he is not as bad off as his brother. Because feeling bad about how your sibling's epilepsy affects you is not as bad as actually living with the epilepsy, complete with the knowledge that yes, you know that your family doesn't like you very much for it.
I was able to empathize not with the author, but with his brother. During my teens and early twenties, I saw a lot of myself in that character; I was withdrawn, at times given to explosive rage; depressed; desperately seeking connections; and convinced that my family saw me as a burden (because they did.) It's clear that the author sees his brother's epilepsy as something he (the author) needs to somehow overcome, as if it's an obstacle course. As if his brother's disorder is holding the author back, and that breeds a lot of resentment. How does it feel to know that one is a burden because of something that one cannot control? We, the audience, never know that. The author never attempts to see things from his brother's point of view, because he is too wrapped up in convincing himself that his brother has ruined his life. I understand the stress that caregivers and family members of those with chronic disorders feel, but those with at least a smidgen of self-awareness know that going on an extended pity-party only makes things worse.
Epileptic is an honest, realistic portrayal of one man's experiences growing up with an epileptic brother in Europe during the mid-sixties. Epileptic is also an honest, realistic portral of a boy who has grown into a selfish, tunnel-visioned, resentful man with an adult epileptic brother that he shows no compassion for. Navel gazing at it's very finest.
My mixed feelings about this book are directly related to my own feelings as someone with epilepsy. The author's brother is depicted as the eye of the storm that is the family. Everything they do is related to curing his disorder, and they really do try every quack idea I've ever heard of. Many times, Jean-Christophe is drawn as a monster that attacks the author in some way (either literally or metaphorically.) What the author truly lacks is compassion for his brother, especially as an adult. The feelings he has as a child are both realistic and understandable, but you can feel his rage and bitterness toward his brother as both of them grow older. Even as an adult he seems unable to produce any empathy for his brother, rejecting him when he attempts to get close (Jean-Christophe coming into the author's room to watch him work) but then expressing anger, disappointment and confusion when his brother then turns to other avenues to forge connections, such as political ideologies and religion.
Near the end of the book, when the author is feeling particularly low, he claims that "I'm not sick but I'm almost as bad off as you are." (319) Even as an adult, the author does not have the self-awareness to either recognize the ridiculousness of that statement, or at least adding a caveat to explain that yes, he feels terrible, but he realizes that no, he is not as bad off as his brother. Because feeling bad about how your sibling's epilepsy affects you is not as bad as actually living with the epilepsy, complete with the knowledge that yes, you know that your family doesn't like you very much for it.
I was able to empathize not with the author, but with his brother. During my teens and early twenties, I saw a lot of myself in that character; I was withdrawn, at times given to explosive rage; depressed; desperately seeking connections; and convinced that my family saw me as a burden (because they did.) It's clear that the author sees his brother's epilepsy as something he (the author) needs to somehow overcome, as if it's an obstacle course. As if his brother's disorder is holding the author back, and that breeds a lot of resentment. How does it feel to know that one is a burden because of something that one cannot control? We, the audience, never know that. The author never attempts to see things from his brother's point of view, because he is too wrapped up in convincing himself that his brother has ruined his life. I understand the stress that caregivers and family members of those with chronic disorders feel, but those with at least a smidgen of self-awareness know that going on an extended pity-party only makes things worse.
Epileptic is an honest, realistic portrayal of one man's experiences growing up with an epileptic brother in Europe during the mid-sixties. Epileptic is also an honest, realistic portral of a boy who has grown into a selfish, tunnel-visioned, resentful man with an adult epileptic brother that he shows no compassion for. Navel gazing at it's very finest.
June 5, 2018
Whew! The artist's account of growing up with his epileptic brother was so brutally honest, I had to repeatedly put the book down, and walk away. This is not a situation that I've had to deal with, but I can well imagine how trying it must have been. David does not shy away from expressing the feelings of anger and hatred he had toward his brother for constantly disrupting the family.
This was tough going, but well worth the effort.
This was tough going, but well worth the effort.
August 23, 2016
David B. (pravim imenom Pierre-François Beauchard) u Epileptičaru opisuje kako se njegova obitelj borila s epilepsijom od koje boluje njegov stariji brat. Iako je brat u središtu priče, autor strip koristi kao svojevrstnu terapiju, ili ispušni ventil, jer ovdje može reći sve ono što je šutio godinama. Također se kroz strip pokušava, barem fiktivno, približiti bratu. Odlično prikazuje i kako očaj natjera ljude da pomoć potraže kod raznih "alternativaca". Njegovi roditelji su tako u traženju djelotvornog lijeka obišli sve od makrobiotičkih gurua, stručnjaka za akupunkturu i magnetizam, preko Swedenborgovih sljedbenika pa sve do rozenkrojcera.
Beauchard u crtežu ne štedi na tušu, table su pretežito crne, a kod likova kombinira karikature sa psihodeličnim nadrealnim spodobama - što odlično funkcionira.
Stil pisanja je pun cinizma, sarkazma, a pomalo je i autističan, jer u opisivanju mučnih događaja, kojima je i sam svjedočio, pristupa dokumentaristički, bez emocija - time postiže jači efekat kod čitatelja koji se angažira emotivno umjesto njega.
Jedina bitna zamjerka stripa je što je predug. Pred kraj Beauchard kao da ne zna kako da završi pa je u naraciju ubacio i nekoliko svojih snova koji ne doprinose priči, a nisu ni nešto posebno zanimljivi.
Ovdje prvi put imam i prigovor na Fibrino izdanje - problem je sa upisanim tekstovima. Font je malo težak za čitanje, a slovo "z" je iz nekog razloga pisano kao broj "3", odnosno kao veliko pisano čirilično "Z", a uz to je i duplo veće od ostalih slova pa je ovo prvi puta da sam pomislio da možda imam disleksiju.
Dakle, još jedan zanimljiv francuski strip koji toplo preporučujem.
Beauchard u crtežu ne štedi na tušu, table su pretežito crne, a kod likova kombinira karikature sa psihodeličnim nadrealnim spodobama - što odlično funkcionira.
Stil pisanja je pun cinizma, sarkazma, a pomalo je i autističan, jer u opisivanju mučnih događaja, kojima je i sam svjedočio, pristupa dokumentaristički, bez emocija - time postiže jači efekat kod čitatelja koji se angažira emotivno umjesto njega.
Jedina bitna zamjerka stripa je što je predug. Pred kraj Beauchard kao da ne zna kako da završi pa je u naraciju ubacio i nekoliko svojih snova koji ne doprinose priči, a nisu ni nešto posebno zanimljivi.
Ovdje prvi put imam i prigovor na Fibrino izdanje - problem je sa upisanim tekstovima. Font je malo težak za čitanje, a slovo "z" je iz nekog razloga pisano kao broj "3", odnosno kao veliko pisano čirilično "Z", a uz to je i duplo veće od ostalih slova pa je ovo prvi puta da sam pomislio da možda imam disleksiju.
Dakle, još jedan zanimljiv francuski strip koji toplo preporučujem.
July 4, 2020
Visually stunning
October 4, 2020
3.5 stars
March 25, 2008
Unquestionably the worst comic book I have ever read, and among the worst books (period) that I have ever had the displeasure of having suffered through. Pretentious, long-winded, uninteresting conceptually and plot-wise, excruciatingly scattered and disjointed (in the WRONG way), and completely amateurish and one-trick when it comes to the drawing style. This looks and reads like (and may actually contain?) the immature student sketches of someone who might someday perhaps maybe grow into a great writer and comic artist, provided they (1) get a REALLY good editor, (2) learn how to tell a story and actually express themselves through writing, and (3) actually grasp some basics of how to make comics impactful and visually interesting, rather than just a collection of random drawings.
For examples of how to actually make a decent comic out of a traumatic childhood and/or unique family history, I would suggest the brilliant Fun Home, the fascinating Persepolis (the movie is even better), or heck, try Maus.
For examples of how to actually make a decent comic out of a traumatic childhood and/or unique family history, I would suggest the brilliant Fun Home, the fascinating Persepolis (the movie is even better), or heck, try Maus.
April 13, 2023
I stopped reading this one over a year ago, after about the first 100 pages. It just didn't click with me. After reading some of David B.'s other work, and really enjoying it, I decided to reconsider this work considered his magnum opus.
I still don't like the beginning but it really does pick up steam and begin to have a point beyond just a simple biography of a boy and his epileptic brother.
I loved the art - I don't think there's enough symbolism in comics. Many artists just show literal events. David really lets his art tell more than words could alone.
Is this just another great autobiographical comic to be added to the ever growing pile? (I think autobiography may be second only to superheros in popularity.)
I still don't like the beginning but it really does pick up steam and begin to have a point beyond just a simple biography of a boy and his epileptic brother.
I loved the art - I don't think there's enough symbolism in comics. Many artists just show literal events. David really lets his art tell more than words could alone.
Is this just another great autobiographical comic to be added to the ever growing pile? (I think autobiography may be second only to superheros in popularity.)
July 8, 2017
Çaresi ve nedeni belli olmayan böyle acı bir hastalığın birinci dereceden şahidi çizer-yazarın her karesi beni derinden etkiledi. Her sayfada ailece içinde oldukları çaresizliği, umudu, yılgınlığı hissediyor insan. Siyah beyazlığının da etkisiyle kocaman bir gölge gibi üzerine düşüyor kitap insanın. Grafik romanın en güzel örneklerinden biri kesinlikle. Çizerin iç dünyasının ücralarına ulaşıyor insan ve en saklı hislerine şahit oluyor.
September 27, 2015
Comic books are a bit like video games insofar as they have been dogged by a stereotype of nerds with spiky hair bashing control pads, high fiving and using expressions like 'cowabunga, doooood'. I don't indulge in either that much, but I have enough experience to know that the crème de la crème of the mediums are credible (this basically means that I sometimes read comics and play GTA V...).
I'll begin by saying that this is a deeply personal story which makes it all the more of an accomplishment because 'deeply personal' is so easily lost in sentimental drivel yet this carries itself all the way. It's primarily about the narrator's relationship with his older brother who suffers from severe epilepsy. This condition has a massive impact on his family unit who turn to all kinds of esoteric remedies in order to alleviate the condition. None of these work and things become increasingly difficult as they grow through the years. The narrator allows us in to his inner thoughts which at times are disturbing yet painfully honest. If you have siblings or close relatives with long term conditions then it'll probably strike a nerve in some way.
The illustrations are top notch. One thing about reading comics is that it can be difficult to slow down and appreciate the visuals because you just want to know where it's all going. With Epileptic the illustrations are among the best I've come across. The main theme is that epilepsy is tantamount to a demonic possession and this is conveyed fantastically well. There is also so much historical, religious, spiritual and political imagery that this surely must've taken many years to illustrate. You can reflect on every page for hours if you want to; there's so much going on.
Epileptic is up there in the comic medium as an example of what can be achieved if the right creative mind sets to work on a comic. A common criticism I've read is that it's too long. Anyone who reads the English version should bear in mind that Epileptic was a series of comics which were published over a number of years and what you are reading is a compendium. It wasn't intended to be read in one sitting (although in my opinion reading it in one sitting wasn't an issue). My advice to future readers is to take breaks if you have to, but don't let the length put you off. When the story comes in to fruition, you begin to reflect on the relevance of the earlier tangents and the ending is more than satisfying.
I'll begin by saying that this is a deeply personal story which makes it all the more of an accomplishment because 'deeply personal' is so easily lost in sentimental drivel yet this carries itself all the way. It's primarily about the narrator's relationship with his older brother who suffers from severe epilepsy. This condition has a massive impact on his family unit who turn to all kinds of esoteric remedies in order to alleviate the condition. None of these work and things become increasingly difficult as they grow through the years. The narrator allows us in to his inner thoughts which at times are disturbing yet painfully honest. If you have siblings or close relatives with long term conditions then it'll probably strike a nerve in some way.
The illustrations are top notch. One thing about reading comics is that it can be difficult to slow down and appreciate the visuals because you just want to know where it's all going. With Epileptic the illustrations are among the best I've come across. The main theme is that epilepsy is tantamount to a demonic possession and this is conveyed fantastically well. There is also so much historical, religious, spiritual and political imagery that this surely must've taken many years to illustrate. You can reflect on every page for hours if you want to; there's so much going on.
Epileptic is up there in the comic medium as an example of what can be achieved if the right creative mind sets to work on a comic. A common criticism I've read is that it's too long. Anyone who reads the English version should bear in mind that Epileptic was a series of comics which were published over a number of years and what you are reading is a compendium. It wasn't intended to be read in one sitting (although in my opinion reading it in one sitting wasn't an issue). My advice to future readers is to take breaks if you have to, but don't let the length put you off. When the story comes in to fruition, you begin to reflect on the relevance of the earlier tangents and the ending is more than satisfying.
June 10, 2019
To-do full review:
About: Epileptic is the memoir of Pierre-François Beauchard (David B.), tracing the tragic life of his family as it tries to work around his brother's severe epilepsy. You cannot like a drama like this, but also you can't deny this is a masterpiece of the genre. (Same as for Maus.) All in all, you'd like a copy for your library.
The story is heart-breaking. Born in a normal, bit happy-go-lucky family, where Pierre-François (Fafou, later David) is the youngest boy and Florence is an even younger daughter, the slightly older Jean-Christophe becomes quickly the center of the story. His sickness, identified as epilepsy, is increasingly more severe and gruesome, and quickly engulfs the whole family's life and future. The family tries everything to cure him, from officially recognized to "traditional" medicine, to religion and spiritual approaches. The core of the story is not the failure to cure Jean-Christophe, but how the people feel about it - - there's a lot in this drama!
The characters are deep and deeply humane. The mother and father keep trying, keep hoping, but at the same time have to cope with the pragmatism of daily life. Moments such as when the father gives up are hard to take because of how much the reader has grown to believe the strength of the parents will be endless. The young Fafou experiences all a child is expected to experience, and later converts seamlessly into the heavy-natured David. The reader feels for every emotional twist and turn.
The drawings are unique, combining multiple styles ingeniously and matching the point in the story. I found it revealing for the capability of graphic novels how well the author captures facial expressions, a difficult feat because the medium mandates stylized and simplified tracing of facial features; so it's the linestyle and the hatching and the whole drawing itself that has to be mastered. The author's mastery of the genre allows him to play with panel density and content in unique ways. There's little to say, much better to see for yourself.
About: Epileptic is the memoir of Pierre-François Beauchard (David B.), tracing the tragic life of his family as it tries to work around his brother's severe epilepsy. You cannot like a drama like this, but also you can't deny this is a masterpiece of the genre. (Same as for Maus.) All in all, you'd like a copy for your library.
The story is heart-breaking. Born in a normal, bit happy-go-lucky family, where Pierre-François (Fafou, later David) is the youngest boy and Florence is an even younger daughter, the slightly older Jean-Christophe becomes quickly the center of the story. His sickness, identified as epilepsy, is increasingly more severe and gruesome, and quickly engulfs the whole family's life and future. The family tries everything to cure him, from officially recognized to "traditional" medicine, to religion and spiritual approaches. The core of the story is not the failure to cure Jean-Christophe, but how the people feel about it - - there's a lot in this drama!
The characters are deep and deeply humane. The mother and father keep trying, keep hoping, but at the same time have to cope with the pragmatism of daily life. Moments such as when the father gives up are hard to take because of how much the reader has grown to believe the strength of the parents will be endless. The young Fafou experiences all a child is expected to experience, and later converts seamlessly into the heavy-natured David. The reader feels for every emotional twist and turn.
The drawings are unique, combining multiple styles ingeniously and matching the point in the story. I found it revealing for the capability of graphic novels how well the author captures facial expressions, a difficult feat because the medium mandates stylized and simplified tracing of facial features; so it's the linestyle and the hatching and the whole drawing itself that has to be mastered. The author's mastery of the genre allows him to play with panel density and content in unique ways. There's little to say, much better to see for yourself.
September 13, 2007
Graphic memoir, what a popular and critically successful genre for comics these days. This book belongs on a shelf with Blankets and Persepolis: A strange and exceptional childhood illustrated in a way that reveals emotional perceptions through cartooning. Though Epileptic is far worse than Thompson's and Satrapi's books.
The story is profoundly interesting, a family deals with the epilepsy of their oldest childest by diving into various fringe New Age practices in France from the late 60's and through the 70's. It also dabbles in the French Resistance, Algeria, and May'68.
The problem is the storytelling. David B. distances himself from his tale, uses post-modern strategies that force the reader to analyze his motives and narative strategies, and overstates his metaphors by showing and telling. Abstract concepts are completely mapped out in both word and image. To illustrate that he is feeling paranoid, he will write: "I was feeling paranoid" and then draw a monster character that represents Paranoia and then converse with it. A lighter touch would have been nice.
The story is profoundly interesting, a family deals with the epilepsy of their oldest childest by diving into various fringe New Age practices in France from the late 60's and through the 70's. It also dabbles in the French Resistance, Algeria, and May'68.
The problem is the storytelling. David B. distances himself from his tale, uses post-modern strategies that force the reader to analyze his motives and narative strategies, and overstates his metaphors by showing and telling. Abstract concepts are completely mapped out in both word and image. To illustrate that he is feeling paranoid, he will write: "I was feeling paranoid" and then draw a monster character that represents Paranoia and then converse with it. A lighter touch would have been nice.
Read
February 17, 2021Beautiful art work.
As for the rest of the text, it is titled Epileptic. This graphic memoir begins with images of David B. and his brother, Jean-Christophe, as adults. David B. notes the ravages that epilepsy has wrought on his brother's body. Then, he quickly takes his readers into their shared past. He describes their play, their obsessions, their readings in stark and beautiful black and white panels. Then Jean-Christophe begins to experience more and more seizures.
Their parents work to find a cure, eschewing traditional medicine when it fails their son. The entire family participates in an endless litany of diets, doctors, and treatments. But here is where I am troubled... Jean-Christophe soon disappears from the story. Sure, he is in the background - a foil for David B. to express frustration, alienation, loneliness, and even success. But Jean-Christophe's frustration, alienation, loneliness is barely there.
David B. asks his sister to write the foreword and the afterword. He employs self conscious metafictional elements of craft, by bringing his mother into the text to question HOW and WHY he choses certain stories and leaves out others. He constantly asks, what did my brother feel? And yet, he never actually ASKS his brother. Instead, the most B. ever seems to interact with his brother is by invading his privacy, sneaking into his room, and reading his writings. He writes, "“On his desk there are bits of text scrawled on loose leaves. A summary for a novel, random reflections, fragments of remembrances. I stumble across a passage on his life in Paris. I’m moved, and frightened. He speaks of his despair and loneliness and the words might as well come from my pen." He must take his brother's disease and claim it as his own, even as he has consistently distanced himself from his brother.
He writes, "I’m not sick but I’m almost as bad off as you are." Really, David B.? Really? You, who are able to attend college, make friends, hold a job, walk down the street without worrying about losing consciousness and hurting yourself? You are almost as bad off?
He also can't help but constantly blame his brother for not getting better...He is called lazy, told he is not trying hard enough to get better, accused of enjoying his illness because of the attention he gets. While I appreciate David B.'s honesty, his narcissism and obliviousness to his own privilege is relentless and exhausting.
This narcissism extends to his parents as well - particularly his mother. When each strange treatment for her son's disease doesn't work, it is her pain, guilt and hard work that is revealed. Again, nothing about Jean-Christophe, how he feels or thinks.
The last thing that really bothers me is a subtle racism I felt at times. This family has no problem exploring "exotic" eastern medicine. But, when a woman from Haiti explains that she can help Jean-Christophe, David B. writes, "But my mother remains skeptical. She was taken aback by the ceremony. All these rituals seem very alien to her. She thinks voodoo springs from a culture too different from our to help combat my brother’s illness. We have equivalent resources within our religion." Unbelievable! She has tried to speak to the dead, forced her family to live in various communes, committed her son to all kinds of mediation and dietary practices that have nothing to do with the Christian religion of their own culture.... And again, what does Jean-Christophe think of these practices?
In the end, I felt deceived by the title and offended by the erasure of Jean-Christophe even as his disease is used as a device for David B. to overcome - an example of what Disability theorists David T. Mitchell and Sharon L. Snyder describe as a "narrative prosthesis." No.
As for the rest of the text, it is titled Epileptic. This graphic memoir begins with images of David B. and his brother, Jean-Christophe, as adults. David B. notes the ravages that epilepsy has wrought on his brother's body. Then, he quickly takes his readers into their shared past. He describes their play, their obsessions, their readings in stark and beautiful black and white panels. Then Jean-Christophe begins to experience more and more seizures.
Their parents work to find a cure, eschewing traditional medicine when it fails their son. The entire family participates in an endless litany of diets, doctors, and treatments. But here is where I am troubled... Jean-Christophe soon disappears from the story. Sure, he is in the background - a foil for David B. to express frustration, alienation, loneliness, and even success. But Jean-Christophe's frustration, alienation, loneliness is barely there.
David B. asks his sister to write the foreword and the afterword. He employs self conscious metafictional elements of craft, by bringing his mother into the text to question HOW and WHY he choses certain stories and leaves out others. He constantly asks, what did my brother feel? And yet, he never actually ASKS his brother. Instead, the most B. ever seems to interact with his brother is by invading his privacy, sneaking into his room, and reading his writings. He writes, "“On his desk there are bits of text scrawled on loose leaves. A summary for a novel, random reflections, fragments of remembrances. I stumble across a passage on his life in Paris. I’m moved, and frightened. He speaks of his despair and loneliness and the words might as well come from my pen." He must take his brother's disease and claim it as his own, even as he has consistently distanced himself from his brother.
He writes, "I’m not sick but I’m almost as bad off as you are." Really, David B.? Really? You, who are able to attend college, make friends, hold a job, walk down the street without worrying about losing consciousness and hurting yourself? You are almost as bad off?
He also can't help but constantly blame his brother for not getting better...He is called lazy, told he is not trying hard enough to get better, accused of enjoying his illness because of the attention he gets. While I appreciate David B.'s honesty, his narcissism and obliviousness to his own privilege is relentless and exhausting.
This narcissism extends to his parents as well - particularly his mother. When each strange treatment for her son's disease doesn't work, it is her pain, guilt and hard work that is revealed. Again, nothing about Jean-Christophe, how he feels or thinks.
The last thing that really bothers me is a subtle racism I felt at times. This family has no problem exploring "exotic" eastern medicine. But, when a woman from Haiti explains that she can help Jean-Christophe, David B. writes, "But my mother remains skeptical. She was taken aback by the ceremony. All these rituals seem very alien to her. She thinks voodoo springs from a culture too different from our to help combat my brother’s illness. We have equivalent resources within our religion." Unbelievable! She has tried to speak to the dead, forced her family to live in various communes, committed her son to all kinds of mediation and dietary practices that have nothing to do with the Christian religion of their own culture.... And again, what does Jean-Christophe think of these practices?
In the end, I felt deceived by the title and offended by the erasure of Jean-Christophe even as his disease is used as a device for David B. to overcome - an example of what Disability theorists David T. Mitchell and Sharon L. Snyder describe as a "narrative prosthesis." No.
April 21, 2019
I connect to this in many ways. This book was refreshing because it made me feel less alone and less misunderstood.
Read
August 26, 2018My review of another edition : https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
July 24, 2015
Having read this book for the second time, due to it being released recently in Sweden, there are two things that comes to mind. Firstly that this is one of the best, if not THE best autobiographical graphic novel ever created; a book truly deserving five stars in rating if there ever was one. It's intricate, intelligent and intellectual, and at the same time intimate, emotional and highly personal. A tour de force in showing what you can achieve through the media of comics, both in narrative and visual complexity.
The second thought is that this book deserves at least a full book length analysis, not a short shrift here on Goodreads. There are so many depths I'd like to dive into, so many comparisons that the story invites to, so many threads, historical, narratological, psychological, semiotical and so on. The possibilities are endless. I will therefore here limit myself to a few personal reflections, hoping that I will be able to return to this seminal book again in my writings.
What really takes my breath away is the almost organic narrative flow that David B. has achieved here, seemingly starting out without a certain plan, slowly finding his way, testing various ways of telling the story, to finally come to a conclusion that perfectly caps it off, leaving you feeling satisfied to have been able to follow into this life and get at least a small glimpse of what it must have been like to grow up with a severely handicapped sibling. The armour that David B. so often refers to in the story is there in the narrative as well, and I get a feeling that we are never allowed really close to his experiences, as there is a filter of what to tell us and how deep we are allowed into his inner thoughts. Still, the story is very revealing and an emotionally exhausting read.
I am right now making a close study of Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi for a paper I'm writing and even though I knew that the fact that David B was Satrapi's mentor when she got into comics and that there were obvious parallels, i.e the autobiographical theme, the book length format, the black and white, iconic style, and so on, I wasn't prepared for just how much of the things that Satrapi has been hailed for that can be traced back to David B. I haven't seen a full comparative analysis of these two books, but there really should be one, as there are som many similarities. This not to disparate Persepolis, which I also see as one the finest graphic novels ever made, being less intricate in the art but more emotionally hard hitting compared to David B.s book.
Finally, there is the fact that for me personally, when reading how the illness of the brother affected the whole family, not the least giving both his younger siblings problems that will follow them throughout their lives, I can't help thinking about the journey my little family is about to embark on, as we are pregnant again, with my third child, thinking about what would happen with all of our lives if the new family member had a problem similar to that of David B.s brother. Would we be as strong? Would we keep up the endless search for cures? Would we also build ourselves armours to survive, but then at the same time keep others at bay emotionally.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again, good art makes you think, and this book has my head almost exploding with ideas. If you haven't read it, go get a copy now!
The second thought is that this book deserves at least a full book length analysis, not a short shrift here on Goodreads. There are so many depths I'd like to dive into, so many comparisons that the story invites to, so many threads, historical, narratological, psychological, semiotical and so on. The possibilities are endless. I will therefore here limit myself to a few personal reflections, hoping that I will be able to return to this seminal book again in my writings.
What really takes my breath away is the almost organic narrative flow that David B. has achieved here, seemingly starting out without a certain plan, slowly finding his way, testing various ways of telling the story, to finally come to a conclusion that perfectly caps it off, leaving you feeling satisfied to have been able to follow into this life and get at least a small glimpse of what it must have been like to grow up with a severely handicapped sibling. The armour that David B. so often refers to in the story is there in the narrative as well, and I get a feeling that we are never allowed really close to his experiences, as there is a filter of what to tell us and how deep we are allowed into his inner thoughts. Still, the story is very revealing and an emotionally exhausting read.
I am right now making a close study of Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi for a paper I'm writing and even though I knew that the fact that David B was Satrapi's mentor when she got into comics and that there were obvious parallels, i.e the autobiographical theme, the book length format, the black and white, iconic style, and so on, I wasn't prepared for just how much of the things that Satrapi has been hailed for that can be traced back to David B. I haven't seen a full comparative analysis of these two books, but there really should be one, as there are som many similarities. This not to disparate Persepolis, which I also see as one the finest graphic novels ever made, being less intricate in the art but more emotionally hard hitting compared to David B.s book.
Finally, there is the fact that for me personally, when reading how the illness of the brother affected the whole family, not the least giving both his younger siblings problems that will follow them throughout their lives, I can't help thinking about the journey my little family is about to embark on, as we are pregnant again, with my third child, thinking about what would happen with all of our lives if the new family member had a problem similar to that of David B.s brother. Would we be as strong? Would we keep up the endless search for cures? Would we also build ourselves armours to survive, but then at the same time keep others at bay emotionally.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again, good art makes you think, and this book has my head almost exploding with ideas. If you haven't read it, go get a copy now!
February 12, 2015
the only prior experience i brought to this reading of a graphic novel was 'jimmy corrigan: the smartest boy in the world,' which is why amazon recommended it to me. ultimately, i think that the genre is all that connects them. this book is much more intimate, personal, passionate, and chilling. all things 'smartest' wanted to be but only got 4/5's of the way there.
i myself am an epileptic and there are fewer diseases that this book relates to than just ones that are 'out of control.' the effects of epilepsy are far more psychological than physical. where a cancer victim is at the mercy of the disease and body, the epileptic, like many schizophrenics is affronted by dark and sinister shadows, lurking demons. however, it's one thing for an epileptic to be able to voice this. i find it amazing that David B., the brother and author, found so many ways of accurately depicting the demons' influence and sympathetically already fighting in his own way to overcome them with the tools of a child. both graphically and through the course of the story you learn of the ways the family and David B. adapt to confront the shadow, though the epilepsy ultimately remains intractable.
another thing about this book that opened my eyes, is that for the epileptic, the story is told in first, second, and third person. for the family member, where it may always seems superficially to be a disease to which the family remains a third party, one may realize the struggles endured that were ignored. if i were to ask my mother how it felt for her to go through many of the struggles faced in this book, she might not think much of them. but upon reading and seeing the struggles afresh, she might realize that she had much more at stake than anyone, even herself, gave her credit.
this book is so moving and deep because of David B.s ability to so comprehensively annotate each of five family members struggle. the autobiographical aspect takes a backseat to the chronicling of a dark disease that is never cured, much like alcoholism, but only ever treated and hoped against. the ending is particularly potent on this point: it is a tenuous grasp that is held to consciousness, and a varying relationship any of us have to reality, but when we hold together we arent scattered below.
i myself am an epileptic and there are fewer diseases that this book relates to than just ones that are 'out of control.' the effects of epilepsy are far more psychological than physical. where a cancer victim is at the mercy of the disease and body, the epileptic, like many schizophrenics is affronted by dark and sinister shadows, lurking demons. however, it's one thing for an epileptic to be able to voice this. i find it amazing that David B., the brother and author, found so many ways of accurately depicting the demons' influence and sympathetically already fighting in his own way to overcome them with the tools of a child. both graphically and through the course of the story you learn of the ways the family and David B. adapt to confront the shadow, though the epilepsy ultimately remains intractable.
another thing about this book that opened my eyes, is that for the epileptic, the story is told in first, second, and third person. for the family member, where it may always seems superficially to be a disease to which the family remains a third party, one may realize the struggles endured that were ignored. if i were to ask my mother how it felt for her to go through many of the struggles faced in this book, she might not think much of them. but upon reading and seeing the struggles afresh, she might realize that she had much more at stake than anyone, even herself, gave her credit.
this book is so moving and deep because of David B.s ability to so comprehensively annotate each of five family members struggle. the autobiographical aspect takes a backseat to the chronicling of a dark disease that is never cured, much like alcoholism, but only ever treated and hoped against. the ending is particularly potent on this point: it is a tenuous grasp that is held to consciousness, and a varying relationship any of us have to reality, but when we hold together we arent scattered below.
December 19, 2022
This is a special book.
It is difficult, long, full of deeply flawed people who enact serious harms on each other and themselves. The characters are racist, ableist, xenophobic, misogynistic, violent, and defeated. For a bildungsroman, it is obsessively focused on its narrator-protagonist's experiences and perceptions--almost entirely of his brother's illness, of how the protagonist's own childhood, young adulthood, and identity are informed by that illness. The "I" matters most.
But the book is unflinching. Where it shows harm, it demonstrates causation; where it enacts discrimination, it maintains evenhanded candor. The book is dark, but its darkness illuminates complication, such that it challenges its reader to identify similar complications in their life. And what the reader is given, then, is a rare response to any complication, as any unanswerable question: page after page of trenchant exploration, contained between a front cover and a back.
It is difficult, long, full of deeply flawed people who enact serious harms on each other and themselves. The characters are racist, ableist, xenophobic, misogynistic, violent, and defeated. For a bildungsroman, it is obsessively focused on its narrator-protagonist's experiences and perceptions--almost entirely of his brother's illness, of how the protagonist's own childhood, young adulthood, and identity are informed by that illness. The "I" matters most.
But the book is unflinching. Where it shows harm, it demonstrates causation; where it enacts discrimination, it maintains evenhanded candor. The book is dark, but its darkness illuminates complication, such that it challenges its reader to identify similar complications in their life. And what the reader is given, then, is a rare response to any complication, as any unanswerable question: page after page of trenchant exploration, contained between a front cover and a back.
December 16, 2021
Impressive and powerful graphic novel. As another reviewer points out it is really very dark, which is to be expected, as the original title is "The raising of the big evil" which is how epilepsy was known in the Middle Ages. It feels like an exorcism of the author's demons. It is a diary of the fight against the disease but also the author's fears, dreams, frustrations and hopes. The narrative is a bit scattered at times, particularly when he recounts the different therapies and healing groups the family tried in the 70's but we need to take into consideration that it was written nearly over a decade. The drawing is dreamy and surreal which reflects the author's own confusion and mental state. I recommend this book to anyone who loves comics or simply a good story but I warn you: it is emotionally draining.
April 4, 2017
İyi hazırlanmış bir biyografik çizgi roman. Fakat konulardan konulara geçiş hızı sebebiyle, az biraz ambale oluyorsunuz. Yazara yetişme sorun olmuyor ama olayların niceliğini anlama kısmı biraz yorucu hale geliyor. Çizgiler rahatsız edici denmiş ama bana o kadar rahatsız edici gelmedi. Bazı yerlerde klasik işlenenleri yine burada da görmek sıkıcı bir hal aldı. Okuduğunuzda ne demek istediğimi anlayacaksınız. Bunların haricinde sonlara doğru nasıl toparlanacak ya da dağınık mı kalacak diye düşündüm ve itiraf edeyim az biraz bitsin artık dedim.
January 12, 2021
Una historia tremendamente dolorosa, y con la peculiaridad de que, esta vez el protagonista no es quien padece el gran mal, si no que nos cuenta su visión de la enfermedad de su hermano, cómo afecta a toda la familia, y sobre todo el torbellino de traumas, miedos, y dilemas que implica para él vivir con un enfermo. Resulta muy intenso, y en gran parte es por esas viñetas, saturadas como la psique de su creador, que parecen oscuras, monstruosas y agobiantes, pero a la vez tienen un orden y una lógica que concilian, y que, con certeza, son la clave para su supervivencia emocional.
February 16, 2015
Sped through this one. A beautifully told story, dark and honest, ultimately disturbing but moving. David B. offers us a look into his life and with it, his vulnerability. The hardship that comes with living with a family member who is epileptic is portrayed poignantly here. Complete with symbology and haunting drawings, this one will stay with me.
May 12, 2019
Yer yer çok başarılı olmasına karşın genel olarak uzadığı hissi veren ve zor ilerleyen bir kitap.
Hikayesi (ziyadesiyle uzaması ve tekrara düşmesi sebebiyle etse etse) 3/5 olsa da çizimlerdeki kısmi orjinallik ve yaratıcılık hatrına 4/5.
Hikayesi (ziyadesiyle uzaması ve tekrara düşmesi sebebiyle etse etse) 3/5 olsa da çizimlerdeki kısmi orjinallik ve yaratıcılık hatrına 4/5.
July 26, 2011
I’ve known several people over the years who’ve suffered on and off (usually more off than on) from seizures of one sort or another. Fortune favouring me over them, I’ve never witnessed an episode and have only heard tales secondhand. I have however witnessed several faintings. The two are not really at all comparable save for the definitive theft of control from their victims. So while I’ve never witnessed an epileptic event, I am suitably horrified by the possibility.
Every person values control, and self-control above all. Children throw tantrums because they are denied control over a world that shuffles on heedless of their whims. Stereotypical mothers-in-law (and, I would hazard, all the other kind as well), bridle over the fact that another woman has usurped the office of responsibility for their son’s welfare. The lasting terror of rape is often described not as some revulsion for physical contact as such, but disgust or anger or horror at the abject violation of one’s right to control access to one’s physical self. Determinism and destiny are ideas that choke us on their callous disregard for what we want. Control is everything for us.
So it makes sense that David B’s recitation of life with a severely epileptic brother would stand as an unveiled monument to control. Control is the very thing that neither David nor Jean-Cristophe, the epileptic brother, possess. And in each their own way, they are desperate for it. After all, who wouldn’t be?
Jean-Christophe, the elder brother by two years, begins his rather-too-short battle with epilepsy when he is seven years old. He fights for a time, but quickly succumbs. Life without control is too hard on him. He gives in to the monster who’s been pursuing him and becomes a pathetic creature and burden to his family. He is never not human, but in the end it barely seems to matter. He is rage and sloth and mania. He cannot see control existing on any horizon and so he relinquishes entirely his hope in self-control to the end that he might become a burden on those who spawned him, exercising at the least a measure of control over the lives and schedules of his caretakers.
David, our Virgil on this descent into the heights of madness, is little better off than his brother. He is five when catastrophe hits his family with tidal force. The next fifteen years of his life are governed by his brother’s monster and his parents’ wild, grasping attempts to destroy it, or at least placate the beast. David is determined to fight and come out victorious. He will not give up control, even as it is wrested from his grip. He retreats to fantasy worlds, where he might gather strength enough to lay a siege in the real world. He makes his home among dreams and daytime imaginations, steeling himself against real monsters by governing those of his own creation. Fantasies being no match for the terrors of reality, he finally retreats to the last and weakest bastion of the truly defeated: a deep and abiding cynicism.
Epileptic, in many ways, is less the story of Jean-Christophe and more a cathartic journey by which David B can finally rid himself of his dreams, his fantasies, and his cynicism. And more than anything, it may be his way of finally exerting control over his life by coming to terms with the fact that he holds no control over such things and never will. It’s a powerful and compelling journey if one has the patience for it.
David B brings rigid control over the medium to bear as he tells his story. His power over the page is evident and his illustrations do everything to bring Jean-Christophe’s monster to life. Every page is tightly composed and dripping with ink. Some of these pages must have taken days to construct for all their detail and weight. Panels are busy with totems and arcana, filled with the ricochet of aberrant ideologies and failed solutions. Animals and warriors and skeletons and totems and signs and wonders fill the skies of the world David B illustrates. These shadows dance to convey the darkness that all at once swallows his entire family only to digest them piece by piece.
Epileptic is terrifying and needful, boring and important.
Portrayal of the syndrome is devastating, chilling readers with a possibility that is so far from expected that it can’t help but shock. In his own work* expressing the broiling dread that he feels from his own family’s monster, Steven T. Seagle says
There is no way to truly understand epilepsy or its power over the human frame, yet such explorations as David’s graphic memoir are essential. Epileptic incarnates the intangible and gives voice to the unknown. One may not come away having liked Epileptic but one absolutely retreats from the book with empathy, not just for Jean-Christophe but for the family his monster routinely decimates as well.
Epileptic was not necessarily a book I liked. It was, however, a book that is important to read. David B is incredibly talented and the history of his family’s cyclical relationship to his brother’s condition is defiant and essential.
Notes
*Seagle’s book It’s a Bird is, among other things, about Huntington’s Disease and the oppression its presence lords over the family of its victims.
[review courtesy of Good Ok Bad]
Every person values control, and self-control above all. Children throw tantrums because they are denied control over a world that shuffles on heedless of their whims. Stereotypical mothers-in-law (and, I would hazard, all the other kind as well), bridle over the fact that another woman has usurped the office of responsibility for their son’s welfare. The lasting terror of rape is often described not as some revulsion for physical contact as such, but disgust or anger or horror at the abject violation of one’s right to control access to one’s physical self. Determinism and destiny are ideas that choke us on their callous disregard for what we want. Control is everything for us.
So it makes sense that David B’s recitation of life with a severely epileptic brother would stand as an unveiled monument to control. Control is the very thing that neither David nor Jean-Cristophe, the epileptic brother, possess. And in each their own way, they are desperate for it. After all, who wouldn’t be?
Jean-Christophe, the elder brother by two years, begins his rather-too-short battle with epilepsy when he is seven years old. He fights for a time, but quickly succumbs. Life without control is too hard on him. He gives in to the monster who’s been pursuing him and becomes a pathetic creature and burden to his family. He is never not human, but in the end it barely seems to matter. He is rage and sloth and mania. He cannot see control existing on any horizon and so he relinquishes entirely his hope in self-control to the end that he might become a burden on those who spawned him, exercising at the least a measure of control over the lives and schedules of his caretakers.
David, our Virgil on this descent into the heights of madness, is little better off than his brother. He is five when catastrophe hits his family with tidal force. The next fifteen years of his life are governed by his brother’s monster and his parents’ wild, grasping attempts to destroy it, or at least placate the beast. David is determined to fight and come out victorious. He will not give up control, even as it is wrested from his grip. He retreats to fantasy worlds, where he might gather strength enough to lay a siege in the real world. He makes his home among dreams and daytime imaginations, steeling himself against real monsters by governing those of his own creation. Fantasies being no match for the terrors of reality, he finally retreats to the last and weakest bastion of the truly defeated: a deep and abiding cynicism.
Epileptic, in many ways, is less the story of Jean-Christophe and more a cathartic journey by which David B can finally rid himself of his dreams, his fantasies, and his cynicism. And more than anything, it may be his way of finally exerting control over his life by coming to terms with the fact that he holds no control over such things and never will. It’s a powerful and compelling journey if one has the patience for it.
David B brings rigid control over the medium to bear as he tells his story. His power over the page is evident and his illustrations do everything to bring Jean-Christophe’s monster to life. Every page is tightly composed and dripping with ink. Some of these pages must have taken days to construct for all their detail and weight. Panels are busy with totems and arcana, filled with the ricochet of aberrant ideologies and failed solutions. Animals and warriors and skeletons and totems and signs and wonders fill the skies of the world David B illustrates. These shadows dance to convey the darkness that all at once swallows his entire family only to digest them piece by piece.
Epileptic is terrifying and needful, boring and important.
Portrayal of the syndrome is devastating, chilling readers with a possibility that is so far from expected that it can’t help but shock. In his own work* expressing the broiling dread that he feels from his own family’s monster, Steven T. Seagle says
You have to be willing to spit in the eye of fate to have a child. And you have to be willing to accept whatever comes your way. But what if the kid doesn’t turn out like you want. There’s so much responsibility in those little eyes looking back at you for so many answers.
There is no way to truly understand epilepsy or its power over the human frame, yet such explorations as David’s graphic memoir are essential. Epileptic incarnates the intangible and gives voice to the unknown. One may not come away having liked Epileptic but one absolutely retreats from the book with empathy, not just for Jean-Christophe but for the family his monster routinely decimates as well.
Epileptic was not necessarily a book I liked. It was, however, a book that is important to read. David B is incredibly talented and the history of his family’s cyclical relationship to his brother’s condition is defiant and essential.
Notes
*Seagle’s book It’s a Bird is, among other things, about Huntington’s Disease and the oppression its presence lords over the family of its victims.
[review courtesy of Good Ok Bad]
August 15, 2023
A harrowing journey into the heart of a family struggling with generational trauma, conflict, and the rippling impacts of neurological disability in a violently ableist world. Never have I seen the harms of both the medical industrial complex and "alternative" medicine quacks so carefully laid out, especially in the context of parents truly at their wit's end. Likewise, David paints a compassionate and unflinching portrait of himself, his brother, and his sister, speaking sincerely about multiple forms of disability and Madness, while letting no one off the hook for harm, nor declaring anyone past the point of compassion.
August 23, 2020
Важкий, біографічний комікс. Класна графіка і дуже складна атмосфера змісту. Велике пекло для усієї сім'ї, де спершу намагаються знайти порятунок, але спазми життя все сильнішають.
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