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A review by yourfriendsteph
French Milk by Lucy Knisley
2.0
As a 20 something, and recent college graduate contemplating graduate school I could certainly identify with Knisley's woes, the main subject matter of this travel diary. However, I feel her artwork deserved more consideration than being subjected to shopping lists and pity-parties on her Parisian sofa. Reading of her daily excursions of art and culture in Paris made me yearn for more substance. Perhaps educated by her recent completion of art school in Chicago. Knisley seemed to choose to cop out of any opinion erring on the side of feeling too homesick/bloated/tired to process the adventure.
The only insight i found enlightening was a short two-panel comparison of graffiti in Paris to that of New York City and Chicago.
Like other reviewers haven mentioned, French Milk as a title falls short of the expected (or hoped for) metaphor. It hardly translates as a time of growth for the author's relationship with her mother as most of their time together is spent shopping, watching movies, and engrossed in tours. No real development between the two is described. Instead, the title proves as superficial as the rest of the book, picked simply because it's something Knisley likes.
The only insight i found enlightening was a short two-panel comparison of graffiti in Paris to that of New York City and Chicago.
Like other reviewers haven mentioned, French Milk as a title falls short of the expected (or hoped for) metaphor. It hardly translates as a time of growth for the author's relationship with her mother as most of their time together is spent shopping, watching movies, and engrossed in tours. No real development between the two is described. Instead, the title proves as superficial as the rest of the book, picked simply because it's something Knisley likes.