2nd Floor Show me where

616.853/B
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Subjects
Genres
Graphic novels
Published
New York : Pantheon Books 2005.
Language
English
French
Main Author
David B., 1959- (-)
Item Description
Originally published: Paris : L'Association, 2002-
Physical Description
360 p. : ill
ISBN
9780375423185
Contents unavailable.
Review by Choice Review

Since cofounding the publishing company L'Association in 1990, David B. (i.e., David Beauchard) has moved to the forefront of international efforts to revitalize the graphic novel. With a distinct black-and-white palette he here tells a story that, though deeply personal, reflects on the past century's history. First published in six volumes as L'Ascension du Haut-Mal (1996-2003), this novel is an honest and frank autobiography of an Everyman and his epileptic brother. It speaks of the family's constancy in the face of adversity as they struggle with the illness and with the greater challenges of incomprehension from the medical establishment and society at large. Those studying the psychology and sociology of medicine and disease will be the first audience for this book, but readers interested in biography, comic books, and communications design will also appreciate it. In light of the success of the English translation of Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis (2003)--which, like the present volume, was also initially published by L'Association--audiences in the US are well prepared to discover the work of David B., whose style so influenced hers. Epileptic successfully unites the tradition of the bildungsroman with the graphic novel, using the dream-inspired imagery that has long characterized David B.'s art. ^BSumming Up: Highly recommended. All readers; all levels. J. E. Housefield Texas State University--San Marcos

Copyright American Library Association, used with permission.
Review by Booklist Review

The identically titled first half of David B.'s graphic-novel account of his brother's lifelong battle with epilepsy and the family's desperate search for a cure appeared in 2002. This volume, previously published in Europe, collects the entire saga, and its cumulative impact confirms this as a landmark work in the autobiographical-comics genre. As young Jean-Christophe struggles with the illness, his parents desperately search for a cure, turning from psychiatry and neurosurgery to macrobiotics, spiritualism, and even voodoo. As Jean-Christophe grows increasingly troubled and violent, and the strain upon the family increases, young David escapes into a vividly depicted fantasy life, eventually fleeing to art school in Paris, where he honed the deceptively simple and highly expressive drawing style that serves his story so well. This volume follows the siblings into adulthood, concluding with a moving epilogue that touchingly demonstrates David's hard-won understanding of his brother's condition. Marjane Satrapi's acclaimed Persep0 olis BKL My 1 03; part 2, BKL Ag 04 owes a great deal to David B.'s simple, flattened drawing style; if his story is less compelling than hers, lacking Persepolis0 ' backdrop of twentieth-century Iranian history, his treatment is more artistic and sophisticated. Yet they are equally accessible to readers beyond as well as within the ranks of comics fans. --Gordon Flagg Copyright 2005 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

The first half of French cartoonist David B.'s astonishing L'Ascension du Haut Mal appeared in English a few years ago, but this is the first time the whole book has been translated, and it's one of the greatest graphic novels ever published. Epileptic is a memoir of B.'s evolution into an artist, how learning to re-envision and recreate the world with his eyes and hands became his escape route from the madness and disease that might have destroyed him. B.'s family becomes involved with the shady alternative medicine world in France circa 1970 in an attempt to help his epileptic, unstable older brother. What B. picks up from that culture, from the military history he obsesses over and from his brother's cruel delusions is the raw material of his art: his stylized bodies and objects, which look like woodcuts and urn drawings, and especially his constant conflation of physical reality and symbolic value. With B.'s parents consumed with finding a cure, and his brother's quality of life deteriorating, B.'s dreams of a normal childhood are constantly undermined by his brother's illness, to be replaced by a waking and dreaming life filled with demons.This struggle becomes Epileptic's narrative core. B.'s artwork is magnificent-gorgeously bold, impressionistic representations of the world not as it is but as he's taught himself to perceive it-especially in the heartbreaking dream sequences near the end of the book. B.'s illustrations constantly underscore his writing's wrenching psychological depth; readers can literally see how the chaos of his childhood shaped his vision and mind. (Jan. 4) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

The latest entry in the graphic novel sweepstakes, from the publisher who brought us Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis. Here, Frenchman David B., a founding member of the cutting-edge cartooning group L'Association, chronicles his brother's epilepsy. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by School Library Journal Review

Adult/High School-This autobiographical work plumbs the psychological, social, and symbolic reaches of the author's experiences in a family that must deal with a devastating disease. Growing up in the 1960s and 1970s in France's Loire Valley, Jean-Christophe developed grand mal epilepsy around the age of 11. Pierre-Franois, nine, observes his brother's battle with the physical and social implications of the disease; their parents' efforts to find management of it through medical, macrobiotic, and even psychic interventions; and the author's own development in this milieu as a boy obsessed with history and warfare and as a dedicated artist. This is a full-strength novel with well-developed characters, subplots concerning both World Wars, and riffs on the popular culture of the period in which hip Westerners looked to the East for solutions to health and spiritual maladies. David B.'s black-and-white panels spin with Jungian figures of serpents and offer snapshots of commune kitchens, woodlots haunted by his recently deceased grandfather, and street alleys where neighborhood children fantasize the distant past and uncharted future. This volume comprises half of the eight titles originally published in French, and readers will eagerly await its companion. Teens who have read Don Trembath's Lefty Carmichael Has a Fit (Orca, 2000) or Lauren Slater's Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir (Random, 2000) may find this book to be the one that encourages them to become aficionados of sophisticated, graphic-novel literature.-Francisca Goldsmith, Berkeley Public Library, CA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Fantastical, gloriously illustrated graphic memoir of the French cartoonist's life, overshadowed by an epileptic brother. Born Pierre-FranÇois Beauchard, David B., a founding member of the avant-garde cartoonist group L'Association, grew up in a small town near Orleans during the 1960s, the son of two open-minded educators. His older brother, Jean-Christophe, began having severe seizures at an early age, and the disease gradually consumed the family. B.'s parents eventually lost faith in traditional doctors, who treated their ailing son more like a test case than a human being, and moved on to alternative cures. Many of them worked at first but became progressively less effective; treatment for Jean-Christophe turned into a revolving door of one guru after another. The family shuttled up to Paris to see acupuncturists and spent time in a macrobiotic commune that quickly became ugly and fascistic. Meanwhile, David increasingly retreated into a rich interior private universe to escape the reality an incurable sickness. He spun his intricate fantasies of war, monsters and shadowy conspiracies into elaborate drawings, which flow through the pages of this magnificent volume. Fantastic beasts and dark winds lurk around the peripheries of the real events being depicted and often come leaping right through them. Lost in his tales of golems, birdmen and dancing skeletons, David shielded himself from his brother's desperate condition: "My armor is the night." This masterful work of graphic art also succeeds as a tender yet unabashedly realistic view of the disease that eventually claimed Jean-Christophe. The boy was undoubtedly a victim, but he didn't do the little that he could to help himself and couldn't help but drag the rest of the family down with him. This context makes the rage that David and the rest of the family felt toward Jean-Christophe entirely understandable, though no less disturbing. An unromantic, heartrending tale, wrapped in a cloak of nightmares. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Chapter 1 1994. I'm in the bathroom, at my parents' house in Olivet. It's ... me ... It takes a moment for me to recognize the guy who just walked in. It's my brother. It's the first time I've seen him like this, without his public face on. I didn't know you'd lost your front teeth. I got these fake teeth... get in y'r way... Don't wanna... There are scars all over his body. His eyebrows are criss-crossed by scabs. He's enormously bloated from medication and lack of exercise. The back of his head is bald, from all the times he's fallen. Brush teeth ... Go ahead, I'm done. Brush... brush teeth... All right, then... good night. 1964. I'm living in Orléans with my parents, my brother, and my sister. The Algerian War ended two years ago, but I'm not even aware of its occurrence yet. I do know that De Gaulle is the President of the Republic. Florence age 4. Pierre-François age 5. . Jean-Christophe age 7. Every Sunday my dad takes us to mass. I'm bored stiff. I know every detail of the stained-glass windows. When my parents aren't around I play Joan of Arc with my sister and my brother. Fifty-centime coins have a hole in the middle, at school my pen has a nib, at home I read "Vaillant" and "Le Journal de Pif" and my name is Pierre-François. Fafou ! You coming!? He loses a few baby teeth in the process. So I play with my brother instead. Of course, they don't really under-stand our historical preoccupations. I'm Joan of Arc ! At lunch, my father tells us stories from the Bible. Those I do enjoy, especially when they involve fighting. My mother, for her part, tells us about the conquest of Mexico by Hernán Cortés. That's even better because it's nothing but fighting. At night, before we go to sleep, she reads us a passage from "Michel Strogoff" by Jules Verne. The best thing about "Michel Strogoff" is the Tartars. They're always on horseback, they're bristling with weapons, and they kill everybody. At night, the typhoons come for me. I fall asleep and in the mid-dle of the night, I'm carried off by whirlwinds. And I find myself lost somewhere in my room, which has expanded during my sleep. I walk for kilometers, feeling my way along a wall, without ever coming across anything familiar. I'm assaulted by those nightly typhoons a number of times. And then it just stops. Last night I was carried away by a typhoon. I call out to Florence, who sleeps in the next room. She opens the door, I have a point of reference, and I find my way back to bed. Me too ! Behind the house is the alleyway. Several hundred yards worth of blacktop. Virtually never any cars. And the gang : our neighbor Pascal, and a pair of brothers, Richard and Vincent. Hey ! There's a robot in the warehouse ! We enter. I don't like this one bit. I know that's a lie. I've been to the warehouse. The owner's son told me it was okay. C'mon, let's go play in the warehouse. We aren't supposed to! Really? Actually, it's no fun at all. We're on edge, uncomfortable. My brother seems to be look-ing out for something. We start playing in a pile of sand in front of the warehouse. The warehouse manager comes along. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING HERE? Come with me, you ! HERE ! You clean that up ! I cower in a corner, wondering how I'll ever manage to get out without being seen. Where'd he go ? I fling myself into Chantal's arms, crying. I see the manager coming back with Chantal, my parents' maid. We go back to my parents'. Blood is pouring from my left hand. The following day, I'm playing in our courtyard. Fafou, don't go anywhere; someone's here to see you. What happened to you ? I b-broke... the... window... I'm here to apologize to you for what happened yesterday. He leaves immediately. My brother lured me into a trap and my parents let the monster into the house. Suddenly he appears ! Looming over me ! It's him ! That's the worst part ! Oh... A little later, workers come and tear down the warehouse. Jean-Christophe is disconsolate. I don't give a shit. Work progresses. We play on the motorcycle that belongs to Chantal's boyfriend. Vrmmm vrmmm vrmmmm mm... I wanna ride it too ! Florence, go get Dad ! Hurry up ! Hey Tito, you playing dead ? He's heavy. It feels like I've been holding him up forever. What's wrong with Tito ? He had a spell... Hnnngggg... hnnnnggg... Actually, I know what has happened. But that's bizarre ! I didn't think typhoons came around in the daytime ! He got carried away by a typhoon -- I'm sure of it ! From now on I've gotta be really careful. And thus begins the endless round of doctors, for my brother and my parents. They go see our family doctor. He sends them to his teacher, who no longer practices. His diagnosis reflects his hourly billing. He sees them anyway. His diagnosis : epileptic seizures. He refers them to a Parisian neuropsychiatrist. Ma'am, your son is a bad boy. They come to the house and complain. But we aren't bad boys. With the gang, we throw rocks at the bums at the end of the street. They busted one of our wine bottles. That isn't even true ! We also harass the lovebirds who make out in their cars. With my brother, I put together my first book. It's called "The Martyrdom of Florence ."My sister is tortured on every page. We draw a lot. Both of our parents teach art and we've got as much paper and as many crayons as we want. In the alleyway, everything changes very fast. An apartment building and a parking lot are erected on the ruins of the warehouse. Part of the old structure is left standing. My brother is the first and only one of us to speak to him. Every day, one worker eats his lunch by himself, perched on a little wall in the parking lot. Can I have a piece of your bread? I ain't eating his bread. I don't wanna die. That's RAGHEAD ! "Raggedy" is like all torn up. Are you nuts, Jean-Christophe ? That bread is poisoned! What's your name ? He's a raggedy! Mohamed. Is that beer ? You want a piece of bread, Pierre-François ? Don't eat it ! No, apple juice. I don't drink alcohol. Would you like some? Watch it, Jean-Christophe. "Raghead" -- there's a word I never heard at home. My dad hadn't served in the Algerian War, but I'd heard about it. My dad was there, he told me. They kill people with their knives. Algeria is a desert full of fortresses with legionnaires inside. One day the Beduins got fed up and, mounted on horses and camels, they came and attacked the fortresses. Little by little, they took over all the fortresses. The legionnaires fell back in Algiers. The Beduins attacked Algiers and the legionnaires got on the boat and came back to France. The Algerian war was over... At night we sneak into the now-vacated building that was left standing. Check it out. A splash of blood ! He slit someone's throat here ! It's Mohamed! You sure ? Hey, Richard's got a flashlight ! Of course ! The guy goes in, he thinks it's a dead end, he turns around... Look at that. There's two doors, one behind the other ! ...and Mohamed is hidden behind the second door and he stabs the guy in the back! From the Trade Paperback edition. Excerpted from Epileptic by David B. All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.