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The title says it all : stories of embarrassment and despair. Maybe I'm
supposed to relate to these stories, but for some reason I don't. The execution
of the story telling is well done and yes, the ideas that these could happen to
someone is very sad, but we can't dwell on all the injustices done to us in the
past. I had a skin disorder, still do. I don't go around writing about how
people used to ask me about it and make me feel bad. I just chalked it up to
their ignorance at age eight and didn't let it bother me.
The whole book is monochrome. There is no deep depression, no rock bottom,
no catharsis. The whole book seems like one story being retold over and over
again. You get to the aw...doesn't that make you pity the main character and
then it's like someone hits the reset button and you're back to square A.
The idea of the victim really doesn't set well with me unless there is come
sort of strengthening or character development from the pain. Chapman never
gives her characters the opportunity for growth. Her art however, while not
the most stellar in the world, is quite commendable. Her work in the section
called " Bath " is absolutely beautiful.
Overall, I'd say if you like stories about depression with no abatement,
then pick up this book. If you're like me and the perpetual victim bores and/or
annoys you, avoid this book. Then again I might just have lowly tastes; this book
is a Xeric award winner. So if you're artsy you might want to pick this up and see
for yourself.
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