A glossy two-book hardcover collection of all six Criminal volumes was the reason I decided to re-read volume one Coward again. Actually, on my second try it felt much better than when I first had read it. Actually, I would even say I quite liked it. Is it a consequence of volume six? Hmm, looks like I am getting older and dumber.
P.S. And now I quietly wait for the movie.
The last book of Fatale franchise. A decent read, though, I guess, I got tired of it a bit already – like TV shows, the series fatigue finally catches up with you.
Still, when they make a movie, I will be the first to watch it.
I haven't read Kafka's unfinished novel, so hard for me to judge how close it is to the original, but this adaptation as a standalone book is a very nice funny read. In a sense, it reminded me of Eduardo Mendoza's numerous novels from the past three decades, not only the mad detective ones, but even more serious – which are also full of unexpected story twists and adventures.
Adrian Tomine's Sleepwalk is nearly perfect. A hundred page long collection of a dozen stories, that look and read like pages torn out of people's diaries, written for the owner's own exclusive use. Lonely, insecure, sad, they are touchingly real.
Given that I exceeded my memory's capacity for remembering the content of books and movies long time ago (a clear consequence of rabid consumption of both – and one of the reasons of this blog), from his main books Shortcomings and Summer Blonde I remember almost none. But I have flash memories that I loved them long time ago – and I did love this one.
Given Tomine's indie storylines, it's difficult to cut a part of a story as an example – so I decided I place here this one pager story called Drop – which is less typical for Tomine, but is quite interesting nonetheless, especially for the size of it.
Incidents in the Night left me unimpressed. I have so little to say about it (though it's supposedly literary, multi-layer, sophisticated, blah-blah-blah), that I'd rather keep it shut this time.
The Amateurs by Conor Stechschulte is a most strange brew – a story about amnesia, two amateur butchers, tons of mindless gore and dark humor – sick, in the end. A good quick book, though I wouldn't recommend it to many. But to those who like Thomas Ott, I would.
Every Chester Brown's story is a gem – and quite often a gem where he kinda strips naked, both figuratively and literally.
While Paying for It was Brown's recent autobiographic ode to the joys and dangers of paid sex, The Playboy is another brilliant comic memoir of his, focused on his adolescent passion for Playboy mag, masturbation, guilt and shame.
I know not all of you are able to enjoy it – still, I find this book totally adorable.
As usual with Thomas Ott, a couple of pictures is much better than a thousand words. Brrrrr, scary.
My call – The Hidden is nowhere close to Peculia's absolute awesomeness. This Frankenstein-creates-the-end-of-the-world story is, as every Sala's book, beautifully drawn – and even beautifully colored – but the storyline is, ehem, so and so.
Oh well. Enjoy the bloodshed and the macabre!
A few days ago our friends came over for a visit, a married couple with three little girls. So the kids started playing, and then my wife realized that one of them, the eldest girl who's about ten years old, is very, extremely quiet, cuddled up and reading a book in a corner. And so she did for twenty minutes or so. Now, my wife thinks: what a nice little girl, but I wonder, what is the book that she's so immersed into? So she glances over her shoulder…
Why am I telling you all this?
Cause Chet Brown made a fantastic book. With a pinch of raving madness, this is a mid-eighties comic strip about a hole to the parallel universe that ends up (in this brave new universe) in a working lad's ass, a book full of blood craving vampires, cannibal pigmies that live in the sewer, a talking penis (!) with the President Ron Reagan's head attached to it (yikes!!), masturbations, castrations, religious punishment, giant hydraulic presses that pump America's shit in this lovely parallel universe (i.e. a guy's arse!), a severed human hand that crawls in search of its prey – whichever madness, you name it, it's all there. This is the most feverishly sick and the most sickly feverish story I've seen in a while. Groovy!
So yeah, keep the adult books well locked up, huh 😉