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3.38 AVERAGE
3.38 AVERAGE
fast-paced
Somehow I am conflicted.
On one hand I loved the art styles, the colors and the lines are beautiful, and the characters felt like real people. They were all flawed people, I felt like I knew someone just like them in my life. On the other, I didn't really like any of them because, at the end of the day, they all found a way to hurt each other. So...
On one hand I loved the art styles, the colors and the lines are beautiful, and the characters felt like real people. They were all flawed people, I felt like I knew someone just like them in my life. On the other, I didn't really like any of them because, at the end of the day, they all found a way to hurt each other. So...
Absolutely beautiful! This is by far the most beautiful illustration of any graphic novel I've read.
Gosh, the beautiful watercolors showed the feeling of each city I felt I was set in a each of the five chapters (though it seemed like it was longer). We watch a couple start from casual window greetings to one last hookup as lovers and the gritty in between.
Die Geschichte/n- nicht so umwerfend. Aber diese Bilder.
A love story of sorts. The twists and turns life takes us through, new beginnings, leaving and returning... Fior's watercolors are gorgeous. The story is realistic and relatable. A brief window into the lives of others: where they imagined they would be and where they ended up...
A love story between two young adults in Italy that jumps from right before they meet to after they break up and then to them meeting up again years later. The unconventional narrative structure--never seeing Lucia and Piero mid-romance--is ripe with melancholy (as all proper romances are). Very European.
It is not quite about who you think it is, and that narrative slight of hand hits so satisfyingly after the last rainy page, in the epilogue. It is extremely warm, happy even, in this light, and I am frustrated that many other comments appear to take this as a straightforward bittersweet tragedy, directing their sadness at the, frankly, wrong target. I feel very strongly about celebrating this warmth. It’s not quite about the kind of loss it dresses as though it were.
(But like, also, yes, “I told you not to look at me” is so, so wrenchingly sad.)
(But like, also, yes, “I told you not to look at me” is so, so wrenchingly sad.)