Book No. 75 of 2020
(I had a short debate with myself: does this count as a book for the purposes of a reading log?? and came to the conclusion that it has pages and I bought it from a bookstore and it has words that I read with my brain, so yes it is a book.)
Reading an entire book of Allie Brosh’s comics was a balm; it felt like getting a missive from an old friend. True to Hyperbole and a Half style, there were so many moments where I was shaking with uncontrollable laughter. There were also moments—and this won’t be a surprise given Brosh’s incredible, paradigm-shifting comics on depression—that were very raw and honest, and points where I was on the verge of tears. (Just FYI, this book will hit you hard if you have siblings.)
There’s an almost nihilistic charm to the book; Brosh takes you by the hand to walk through some very dark moments in her life, and says there is really no point to it all, but still manages to show you that there is joy and wonder and humor to be found, and that type of honesty feels so much more freeing that some of the relentless forced positivity you get when things are bleak.
It is also an utter joy, even now, to see someone embrace their weirdness with such creative abandon—I of course identify strongly with that and feel less alone in my weirdness.