(On the album of David B. Epilepsy. The Rise of the Great Evil David B., David Beauchard is a French author of unconventional design, which his teacher Pichard, described as a sad picture, a picture that one knows what causes a feeling of sadness in the reader. He has published comics since 1985, and founded the independent publishing house L'Association . His most recognized for critics is the work before us, published in France in six volumes from 1996 to 2003, and collected as Epilepsy. The Rise of the Great Evil in one volume with a prologue and epilogue to his sister. Cutting and possibly autobiographical psychoanalytic, sounding raw and very accurate memories creates a work that captures the reader and shakes him. He discovers, through experience, the sad experiences to which families are forced to reaching the disease. Connects with other works such as Maus or Persepolis , the distance that the processing of memories. Although the tragedy is merely relative, greater effect on the reader by the vividness of the situations and between poetic vision and neurotic David B. A masterpiece. Not suitable for people with altered mood states.)
Ten or twenty years she became the family home. Not lost, or not believed to have lost confidence with the brothers, so the privacy of the bathroom is broken with the appearance of the brother. The brother is actually a stranger, a shadow of the past. The parents' house is no longer the home of their own. What once was new and bright, spacious, beautiful and then everyday is a succession of cold and empty spaces of meaning, if anything, a slight memory of a distant past.
Brother is a monster. You ruined your life. Has ruined family life. You have turned your sister and you two sad things, asocial, traumatized. Your parents have lived in a succession of fashion crazy psychological, pseudo-religious, a thousand thousand aliens and Rosicrucians. Have seen hope, have been deceived, wanted to believe in what you do not want to believe.
And then came the memories. On a black background, memories, memories, memories. From childhood, shamans, of a dead Paris, ghosts, owls. And on that black background, the memories dance, collapsing space, cartoon, dialogue, collapse and collapse readers hearts.
and catharsis. Thanks to the reader, through writing, through the complacent gaze of mother and sister. And better than by the reader, at the expense of the reader, at the expense of the reader to stop a piece of life in reading, reading the harrowing traps and hooks. That hurts and damages.
and catharsis.
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