This one was difficult for me to appreciate. The images feel very- static. Precisely drawn, but somewhat lacking in emotion. Bleak would be a good word for it, and that fits the tone of the novel, but it just didn’t resonate with me. I felt so unaffected. It’s about a time when the author lost an uncle she had admired and was very close to. He passed away from a heart condition that ran in the family, after beating the odds for so many years. The loss affected her deeply, and the author found herself inexplicably drawn to modern ruins, abandoned and decaying buildings, which she would visit and photograph. She ended up traveling to seek out deserted towns and closed factories in all these places where other people go to see iconic landmarks and tourist attractions. There’s a disturbing incident where she finds a pile of photographs in one moldy building, and takes them with her- and even when later she finds out why they were there, she doesn’t return or discard them, but keeps carrying them around place to place with her. While they are getting more and more moldy. I have a thing about mold. So seeing the depictions in this book of black mold creeping up the walls made me feel very unsettled. Even though it was in monotone illustrations, it was captured well enough to make my skin crawl. And when later I read words written by the mother and friend of the person whose photographs she picked up in that empty building, and then portrayed in this book, well that unsettled me even more. I suppose she succeeded in making some readers feel as empty as she herself did, but it didn’t make me feel glad to have read the book. More the opposite. Yes, there’s bits about finding her vision, about her boyfriend who became her fiancé, but none of that touched me either.
Interesting that a lot of other reviewers waxed on and on about the depth of this book (see links below) whereas a few were not really moved by it, like me. I suppose your mileage may vary.
Borrowed from the public library. Completed on 5/11/24.
2 Responses
What a bizarre concept for a book that sounds as if it’s one about personal grieving as much as anything else. I know what you mean about mold…it freaks me out.
Yes, it did feel like a very personal book- and I think the readers it struck home with, had perhaps experienced similar grief or loss.