Harvey Pekar (1939-2010)

Other women always regard me with a strange look when I tell them that the sweetest gift I ever received from any boyfriend consists of 2 generously overstuffed American Splendor anthologies. I suppose it seems strange to most people, as stereotype demands I ask for the most expensive jewelry I can milk – perhaps nagging my way into an expensive night out, overflowing with entitlement and mugging for absolute attention. Perhaps my unwillingness to act the high-maintenance fool is why I’m now single, why I will probably always be single. But that’s neither here nor there.

The reason why I hold such a present in a much higher regard than any of the others lay in the fact that what I truly received was hundreds of pages of the most brutal, naked honesty ever committed to paper. I never had the pleasure of meeting Harvey Pekar, though the minute I first caught glimpses of his comics bobbing about online I felt an undeniable affinity for every letter of every word. Everything the man had to say came laden with hefty reflection – he harbored no trepidations when it came to laying out his anxieties, failures, mistakes, embarrassments…and the occasional victory. The literary field sags considerably under the weight of authors who respect the medium as little more than a conduit towards money and fame. Writing leads to franchises, to glory. Protagonists the wish-fulfilling avatars of an author’s idealized self, weaknesses obscured by overwhelming positives.

Harvey Pekar wrote because Harvey Pekar had things to say. His was an agonizingly beautiful assessment of the frailties and frustrations of existence, and fans irritated by the inauthentic drivel that pollutes the literary landscape praised this painfully rare ability. With nothing less than pure honesty, Pekar found existential lessons in his mundane life as a clerk at a Cleveland VA hospital. “A Ride Home” – one of the more compelling vignettes from American Splendor – details his anger and frustration with a coworker who drove him back to his house after work every night. A highly unflattering glimpse into his all-too-human mindset gradually unfolds, culminating in his walking out of work in a huff when his coworker’s kind heart prevents her from leaving on time. I won’t discuss the story in detail, as I hope you will seek it out yourself.

Even beyond the comics whose title inspired the wonderful biopic starring Paul Giamatti, Harvey Pekar continued to wring out his blue-collar, Rust Belt intellectualism into such evocative works as The Quitter (with Dean Haspiel) and Our Cancer Year (with wife Joyce Brabner and Frank Stack). The former plunges the depths of self-defeatism, while the latter inverts the familiar tale of a heroic cancer patient valiantly grappling against the lumps in his testicles. Both entirely unapologetic, highly emotional displays of human weakness and vulnerability at its most dire. Universal, relatable – corners of ourselves we rarely even acknowledge internally, much less to an audience of anonymous strangers. Perfect examples of why so many loved how he put words to their daily dysfunctions…and why so many hated him for the exact same reason.

Few ever have and ever will strike the precarious balance between ordinary and extraordinary quite like Harvey Pekar, and collaborators, artists, critics and fans have been memorializing his truly amazing memory all day. If I may, I would like to share a few with you, hopefully to underscore just how important a pop culture figure he genuinely was – and the diversity of lives he touched along the way.

The Pekar Project – The site has yet to write of Pekar’s death, but anyone curious about his life and work seriously must check it out.
A.V. Club – Be sure to watch the videos and read Noel Murray’s lovely eulogy as well.
The Daily Cross Hatch – Artists and writers memorialize their beloved friend and colleague.
Pajiba
Topless Robot
Comic Vine
Newsarama
IGN
ComicsAlliance
PublishersWeekly
Self-Publishing Review

C, if you happen to come across this blog looking to see if I’ve been cursing your name about the internet (I haven’t), know that the books remain snug on my shelves. The spines still unbroken just as I like them. Continuously treasured because they boast the words of  a curmudgeonly man courageous enough to reveal to us the uglier facets of humanity without ever denying their tragic beauty. I am still very, very appreciative.

May the frank, simple honesty of your life and words never tarnish, Mr. Pekar.

~Meredith

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