Embracing The Dream World
I find it interesting that although almost all of Epileptic reads like a dream sequence, that David B. specifically uses his dreams to supplement what he can’t express through real events or thought sequences. He presents his dreams with no explication save for their spare titles, “On The Elevator”, “The Judgement”, “The Heavy Assassination”, etc., and yet these mini-stories are the purest and rawest expression of B.’s psyche. Indeed, their increasing frequency during the course of the novel (pages 181, 283, 329, 335, 341, 343, 345, 355) is a testament to B.’s predilection for his dreams as the transcendent medium for his emotions.
The first pages of Epileptic depict real spaces, the only “fictional” spaces are those created by the young David B. in his martial drawings and in his his dreams. However as the story progresses, David B.’s visual language is dominated by visual metaphor rather than visual realism. His first dream appears on page 4, as does his first drawing. In fact the two blend together on the bottom-right panel, David riding with the horses and warriors of his own creation. He even conquers his fear of ghosts in a dream depicted on page 17. However, the dream sequences which are separated from the rest of the narrative make their first appearance on page 181 with “On The Elevator”, a strange blend of erotic dream and nightmare from sometime during 1973-74. David B. marks this point in his life as the beginning of his dream recording. This moment becomes crucial for B. on page 329 as he describes his decision to making books out of his dreams as being “reborn”. Just as dreams become a the most important source material in David B.’s career over time, so do his dreams dominate the narrative as the book goes on. Additionally, one reasons that the synesthetic imagery of Epileptic would never have been achieved if the author had not learned to draw and tell stories in the language and texture of dreams.
David B.’s attitude towards his brother and his illness never reach a cohesive stance, his attitude vacillating between pity and loathing, love and hatred, his feelings of guilt and complacence being inextricably woven together. Originally published in 6 issues over seven years, his general opinion of his brother changes greatly over the corse of 362 pages. In this way, B.’s dreams about his brother (esp. “The Rowboat”, p. 334, “The Heavy Assasination, p. 329, and “The Monster”, p. 345) are best suited to an accordingly complex portrayal of his feelings towards Jean-Christophe. Dreams allow B. to create spaces where he is both the murderer and the savior, the ally and the accomplice. We can see his mind trying to sort these relationships out.
Before his epilogue (facile and tacked-on in my opinion), B. ends with a dream. “Kisses” addresses not only his brother, but his entire family. Fittingly, it is a dream about departure, about good-byes and good-nights. However, all of these good-byes are faulty, clumsy, and disappointing: David’s mother can’t kiss him good-night, Jean-Christophe wants to crush him with a “hug”, he is miles away from his sister who can only blow him a kiss. Finally his good-bye to his father cannot be, “My father is at the second story window. He’s like to hug me but he seems to hesitate./I’m standing in the void, face to face with him./But I’m invisible.”
”The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters”, Goya, 1799
The “Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters,” image got me thinking about how both Jean-Cristophe and David both appropriate traditional “monsters,” for their heroes. It is the dream of Anubis, god of the dead, that teaches David to “no longer fear ghosts, witches, vampires, devils.” The devil in fact became his guide and companion. “I may fear people, life, the future,” David writes. Jean-Cristophe sees a role model in Hitler. I guess they see plenty of demons in the real world. This also recalls Wolk’s suggestion in the “ugly drawings,” chapter of “Reading Comics:” To look at an image you know is viscerally repulsive and find in it something pleasing, on the other hand, is alienating: you have the sense that your experience is different from most people’s and that that difference sets you apart from them. And the meta-pleasure of enjoying experiences that would repel most is, effectively, the experience of being a bohemian or a counterculturalist.” When I replace the word “image” and “experiences” with “hero” and “heroes,” I begin to understand the appeal of the monsters in “Epileptic” for both David and his reader (myself).