Loneliness In A World of People
It’s very interesting that David B.’s form of coping with his brother’s epilepsy takes the form of graphic novel. One of the first questions I had once I picked up this book was if the art form was appropriate for writing a memoir. And then I realized that a memoir of this power would not be done proper justice in any other form. A quote from Douglas Wolk’s work brings home a bit of my point: “The book is also a very clear demonstration of what comics can do, as drawn narratives that require the reader’s imagination to play along, that nothing else can. And it’s impossible to imagine it being adapted into any other medium: to lose the specific work of B.’s drawing hand would be to lose Epileptic itself.”
I found much truth in this as there often seemed to be moments in Epileptic where David would describe something or convey a feeling (often associated with his dreams [which I then interpreted to be his own sort of taking on of epilepsy in order to continue to feel close with his brother] and with his brother’s actual episodes) that would only be given the proper gravitas when connected with an image that didn’t necessarily plainly simulate what was being said. A lot of the images presented forth resonated as symbols that gave the epilepsy a new form of being as opposed to just a “disease” or “condition.” And I think were we to simply have only had words as descriptors and invokers of image, some sort of salience and penetration into B.’s mind would have been rubbed out.
Considering loneliness, I also see the graphic novel format as a way of providing comfort. In my first year seminar, simply titled War, we read a graphic novel on the bombings of Japan in WWII and we talked about reasons for why this was appropriate subject matter for a graphic novel. We talked about how the removal from actual graphic photorealistic images to a “cartoonish” feel helped to ease some of the discomfort that might arise from viewing such things (a shout out to the uncanny valley, if by a bit of a stretch). We also identified the fact that the graphics themselves could have told the story without words and if it was too painful for someone to go out and interview veterans or try to have the story relived in words, the images would stand as testament. I feel the same applies in the case of David B.’s epileptic. A lot of pain and anguish and serious rage/anger lies deep within the pages and the graphics and it may be the narration itself that attempts to counter-balance that unbridled passion. But, it might also be a soothing activity for him to give the epilepsy a different name or a tangible face in order to come to grips with its taking over (and taking away) of his brother. The idea of loneliness is only made so much clearer when one realizes that in the same way Alzheimer’s changes a person, epilepsy operates similarly and, not to be too melodramatic, but one could consider that from the striking of the epilepsy at age 11, it was simply David B. and Florence left.
