Not in the details of its story–which is David Small’s harrowing account of growing up under the watchless eyes of parents who gave him cancer (his radiologist father subjected him to unscrupulous x-rays for minor ailments) and let it develop untreated for years–but in delicate glimpses of the author’s child’s-eye view, sketched most often with no words at all. Early memories (and difficult ones, too) often seem less like words than pictures we play back to ourselves. That is what’s recognizable and, somehow, ultimately delightful in the midst of this deeply sad story: it reminds us of our memories, not just what they are, but what they look like.
In every drawing, David Small shows us moments both real and imagined—some that are guileless and funny and wonderfully sweet, many others that are dark and fearful—that unveil a very talented artist, stitches and all.
It’s a story about being voiceless. It demanded a visual treatment because it involved so much of that guessing game played in our family, of trying to figure out why someone was mad at us–someone who refused to communicate by any other means than slamming things around. If told in words– the story would have lost that visceral impact.
The art is black, white, and gray, and in this story, it works perfectly. Some of the best frames in the book are when the author uses a direct light source on his character. For example, when David is in an elevator, and the doors open and close, he creates a fantastic effect by using this lighting technique. It happens a few times in the story, and it is definitely worth stopping to study the frame and look at the detail.
Related Books:
- The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon – By David Grann
- Bicycle Diaries : David Byrne
