My exposure to Harvey Pekar's work has been limited, I must admit; I've not even seen the American Splendor film yet, despite being a fan of actor Paul Giamatti's work. I've thumbed through a couple Splendor comics in the past, but I just didn't dive into the work. When The Quitter was announced, I figured the time had come, that I should examine the work of one of the industry's best-known writers (thanks to mainstream-media exposure, from Letterman appearances in the '80s to the award-winning film). Like all good autobiolgraphical comics, it's refreshing honest, but I found it was lacking in the storytelling structure I had expected. The Quitter opened my eyes to certain cultures and customs, and the visual methodology applied is impressive and memorable. But something was missing... I was expecting to find some kind of genius in Pekar's writing. Instead, there's a rathr ordinary approach that borders on the mundane, but there's a matter-of-fact tone that's different and intriguing.
Growing up in the 1940s and '50s, Harvey didn't have an easy time of things. For a while, the only thing he thought he could do well was ball up his fists and beat up on other kids, and for a time, the adulation of a few peers was enough for him. Harv took well to sports, but circumstances would conspire to keep him from the limelight. So he quit. Thanks to a near-photographic memory, he was an excellent student... until it came to math and a couple of other subjects. So he'd quit those. And jobs. And stints in college. Harvey was a man searching for his place in life and something he could love doing, and in some ways, he continues to search for those things.
Haspiel's art immediately puts one in mind of the late Jack Kirby's work, but the darker, more angular approach he incorporates into his art also elicits an easy comparison to the style of Phil (Nightwing) Hester. He incorporates some strong structure into the layout of the pages, and it helps to string the entire book together. There are a couple of great moments when panels on an odd-numbered page mirrored the panels on the even-numbered page that immediate precedes and faces it. Those are striking and effective layouts that connect the young Harvey with the older Harvey, who serves as narrator.
As I read the book -- especially the first couple of acts, that focus on Harvey as a child and teen -- I found I was a bit put off by the tone of the dialogue, and I realized that my problem with it was that the young Harvey seemed too wise and self-aware of his own shortcomings. Young Harvey seems to share the elder Harvey's insight into why he does the things he does, and it just didn't ring true for me. Now, it's entirely possible that Harvey Pekar, as a boy, was as articulate and introspective as he's portrayed to be in this book, and that I'm wrong in my assessment that's it not realistic. Nevertheless, that was my impressive, and it took me out of the narrative.
If there's one thing I've never really understood, it's brawling. I've been in one fistfight in my life (eighth grade), and I did it to stand up for myself. I've never understood guys who fight because they enjoy it or derive some kind of personal worth or glory from it. Pekar educates his readers about that notion here. I still don't care for streetfighting or bar-brawling as sport, but I think I understand it better now. Pekar doesn't really apologize for it either. He simply explains from where his motivations stemmed, and it makes more sense to me.
The Quitter lacks a sense of closure one usually expects from a story, regardless of genre, but I think Pekar's approach is that there is no closure, no moral, no epiphany. This is his life, not a story "based on a true story." This is no movie of the week, with added or combined characters to make for a more accessible and palatable plot. 8/10
