Finck is an interesting author. This is my third read by her but a completely different experience. The other two were narratives, this one is a collection of cartoons.
Makes perfect sense – Finck is, after all, a cartoonist, but oddly enough, her cartoons didn’t do that much for me wherein her other books showcase an undeniable gift for narrative. The cartoons were ok, fine, but mostly nothing special, nothing to distinguish it from oh so many other clever cartoons out there. The plots and ideas are mostly observational and mostly profoundly personal, almost confessional in nature. So presumably you’ll enjoy them in direct proportion to how relatable you’ll find them, which is to say how much you can relate to a fairly stereotypical 30-year-old or so NYC millennial. I prefer my cartoons with more of the worldview or more out there, less personal and definitely with more art to them. Gimme clever talking animals any day over someone’s whine about their singledom. Anyway, this was still kinda fun and had its random abstract moments. Finck’s art consists of squiggles so minimal they take time getting used to, but it works decently enough for the format. The book is long, over 400 pages, but goes by quickly. Like cartoons do.
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