≫ PDF Our Cancer Year Harvey Pekar Joyce Brabner Frank Stack 9781568580111 Books

Our Cancer Year Harvey Pekar Joyce Brabner Frank Stack 9781568580111 Books

Download As PDF : Our Cancer Year Harvey Pekar Joyce Brabner Frank Stack 9781568580111 Books

Our Cancer Year Harvey Pekar Joyce Brabner Frank Stack 9781568580111 Books

I've always admired Joyce Brabner (I've even, truth to tell, had a bit of a crush on her). I like her writing talent, her passion for justice, her activism, her wit, her nonconformity, her looks, her scrapiness, and her determination to protect and nurture her obsessive-compulsive genius of a husband Harvey Pekar. And I love this memoir of the year in which things fell apart on several different fronts, and how Joyce picked them up. Our Cancer Year was co-written by Harvey and Joyce, but let's face it: the protagonist in the story is--and ought to be--Joyce.

Our Cancer Year has three plots going on in it. Joyce struggles to write a book about young kids around the world who work for peace; Joyce and Harvey decide to leave their rented apartment and buy a house; and Harvey is diagnosed and treated for lymphoma. In three intersecting circles, then, we see things fall apart: the trauma for the kids and Joyce's tireless (and occasionally despairing) efforts to befriend and nurture them; the hassles and unexpected emergencies that come with buying and fixing up a house; and the disruption of the quotidian when serious illness comes. The ordinary--which is, after all, Pekar's chosen metier--becomes confused, conflicted, messed up. Things fall apart.

It's Joyce's job to try to put them back together--or at least to be strong enough to help the kids and Harvey get through the storm until calmer weather returns. Her struggle to hold the center is the real story here, and it's a gripping and poignant one that actually caused tears to come to my eyes at one point (when Dana, one of the peace kids, leaves a phone message that an exhausted Joyce is too tired to pick up). Harvey's suffering, the numbness of Uri and the anger of Zamir, the insensitivity of Dr. Cantor, the sheer weariness, fear, and occasional rage of Joyce: these add to the creative tension of the story in ways that, at the end of the memoir, leave the reader emotionally exhausted but grateful for having been allowed to share this year with Joyce and Harvey.

A quick word about the artist, Frank Stack. Of all the illustrators with whom Pekar and Joyce collaborate, I have to say that I like his work least. But he was exactly the right artist for Our Cancer Year. The fluid, impressionistic style that Stack brings to the story chillingly conveys the theme of things falling apart, nothing standing still, the familiar contours going wavy. Such impressionism utterly fails to capture Pekar's obsessive-compulsive need for control, predictability, and definition, and that's why I generally don't like Stack's illustrations of Pekar's stories. But Our Cancer Year is, in part, a chronicle of the breakdown of predictability and definition. So Stack was an inspired choice.


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Our Cancer Year Harvey Pekar Joyce Brabner Frank Stack 9781568580111 Books Reviews

This is an incredible book. This comic-book remarkably and vividly portrays real lives--some lives torn apart by cancer, and some by war.
I loved this book, and I've read it twice, several years apart.
The second time I read it, something "hit me over the head" that hadn't struck me before. That's probably because since my first reading, I've done extensive research on the relationship between cancer and IGF-1 in dairy foods. (I've collected the full-text of hundreds of peer-reviewed journal articles while co-authoring a book on rBGH.) Upon this reading of Our Cancer Year, I noticed that dairy figured prominantly among mentioned foods in the book. Most readers of this review will view this paragraph as more quack than quirk, but I invite serious-minded researchers to check out PubMed for "IGF-1" (found in cow's milk) and "neoplasms," for instance. This book was written before rBGH was introduced into cows, which has resulted in even higher levels of the IGF-1 hormone in our diet.
Another thing that struck me while re-reading this is that people are still killing each other in the Middle East, even this many years later. Not surprising, I guess, but tragic, nevertheless. I admire Joyce B. for her challenging peace work. And I admire Harvey P. for this honest, insightful portrayal of their struggle with cancer.
I think the artist did a fine job, too. An all-around great book, whether you've had cancer or not. (I have not.)
I bought this book on faith, having greatly enjoyed "American Splendor Presents Bob & Harv's Comics" (which was illustrated by R. Crumb). I expected a personal story, a slice of life, an attempt to make sense of tragedy. But what I found instead was unimpressive graphics (this book is NOT illustrated by Crumb!) and bombastic lectures on the mid-East and domestic politics, including much anti-Israel commentary. The political proclamations rubbed me the wrong way, but even if I'd been sympathetic, I think I would have been disappointed by the bad art and lack of focus on the professed topic.
A super real look at what it's like to have cancer. I love Harvey Pekar. Rest in Peace.
If you like Pekar or you have seen a cancer fight play out, you will totally get this. And if you want to know what a cancer fight is like, with everything exposed, this is the book to get.

Since one reviewer mentioned R.Crumb, I will point out that Pekar said that Crumb was very impressed with what the artist of this book had done and Crumb said he couldn't have done better. The artist has done incredible work in transmitting the story.

This book is as real as it gets. Get it!
Just not good in any way--to me.
While I found it admirable that the authors would open up their lives in an honest way during a difficult time in their lives, I didn't find the book or the story very entertaining or enlightening. The coarse black and white graphics dark and often took away from the story, the characters were flawed to the point that I didn't like them apart or with each other, and without a unique message.
This was an excellent Harvey Pekar book on a very tough subject. It had to be tough for them to relive it all.
I've always admired Joyce Brabner (I've even, truth to tell, had a bit of a crush on her). I like her writing talent, her passion for justice, her activism, her wit, her nonconformity, her looks, her scrapiness, and her determination to protect and nurture her obsessive-compulsive genius of a husband Harvey Pekar. And I love this memoir of the year in which things fell apart on several different fronts, and how Joyce picked them up. Our Cancer Year was co-written by Harvey and Joyce, but let's face it the protagonist in the story is--and ought to be--Joyce.

Our Cancer Year has three plots going on in it. Joyce struggles to write a book about young kids around the world who work for peace; Joyce and Harvey decide to leave their rented apartment and buy a house; and Harvey is diagnosed and treated for lymphoma. In three intersecting circles, then, we see things fall apart the trauma for the kids and Joyce's tireless (and occasionally despairing) efforts to befriend and nurture them; the hassles and unexpected emergencies that come with buying and fixing up a house; and the disruption of the quotidian when serious illness comes. The ordinary--which is, after all, Pekar's chosen metier--becomes confused, conflicted, messed up. Things fall apart.

It's Joyce's job to try to put them back together--or at least to be strong enough to help the kids and Harvey get through the storm until calmer weather returns. Her struggle to hold the center is the real story here, and it's a gripping and poignant one that actually caused tears to come to my eyes at one point (when Dana, one of the peace kids, leaves a phone message that an exhausted Joyce is too tired to pick up). Harvey's suffering, the numbness of Uri and the anger of Zamir, the insensitivity of Dr. Cantor, the sheer weariness, fear, and occasional rage of Joyce these add to the creative tension of the story in ways that, at the end of the memoir, leave the reader emotionally exhausted but grateful for having been allowed to share this year with Joyce and Harvey.

A quick word about the artist, Frank Stack. Of all the illustrators with whom Pekar and Joyce collaborate, I have to say that I like his work least. But he was exactly the right artist for Our Cancer Year. The fluid, impressionistic style that Stack brings to the story chillingly conveys the theme of things falling apart, nothing standing still, the familiar contours going wavy. Such impressionism utterly fails to capture Pekar's obsessive-compulsive need for control, predictability, and definition, and that's why I generally don't like Stack's illustrations of Pekar's stories. But Our Cancer Year is, in part, a chronicle of the breakdown of predictability and definition. So Stack was an inspired choice.