French Milk by Lucy Knisley
I couldn’t sleep this morning and once the sun started to come up and the birds started to chirp (and for once were not drowned out by the wind tunnel that is our condo here), I gave in and got up. It’s already a beautiful day, so I decided to sit on the balcony and finish French Milk.
If I hadn’t already been a fan of her art and her writing from reading her blog (I’ll have to cone back and add links when I get home – I don’t know how to do it in Edward’s WordPress app), her book would have convinced me from the very beginning. She has a very intimate way of writing – I felt like she was just telling me (italicize that) about her month and a half in Paris. And her sketches (and occasional photograph) of her and her mom and the things they see (I want to go to Paris again now), the things they eat (so hungry), the things they bought (I long for the coat she found at Marche aux Puces), and the things she was thinking (she was just finishing her studies at the Art Institute and about to face the real world) all add to the cinnection she creates with the reader.
And it’s also a charming love note to Paris. I know I’m in Hawaii now, but I wish I were in Paris all of a sudden! She’s reminded me if all the things I still need to see there.
So, yeah, a great book – I hope to see another from her soon!
My rating: A
Off to climb Diamond Head – not feeling so dizzy as yesterday, so I don’t think I’ll fall off after all. Hopefully.