Word: snapshotted
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...with disease. When the author's great-grandmother practices "white magic" and tells his mother of the fairies living in the fields, you can see where the door opened for his mother's eventual absorption in ouija and spiritualism. At once the story of a family in crisis, a snapshot of the late-1960s, the diary of an artist in the making, and a meditation on how the past informs the present, "Epileptic" interweaves them all into a remarkable literary whole...
...descript buildings and streets. Centered on the front are figures that look away from you in distracted or pensive positions. You feel they might catch you staring at them and be annoyed. This unusual, enigmatic design leaves you with more questions than answers, like looking at a snapshot you find on the sidewalk. The stories inside reflect this unusual approach, telling challenging tales of low-key, working New Yorkers of the outer boroughs...
...your fingers "for her pleasure." The other non-fiction standout, "My, My American Bukkake," by Susannah Breslin, goes behind the scenes of a porn video subgenre where, for starters, eighty or more guys throw their underwear at a porn star and shout "Bonzai!" Using traced photos, Breslin's snapshot style gets at the scenario's serio-comic complications, with one recipient of the bukkake's simultaneous male attention remarking on how all that protein made her hair softer...
...arrives in America for a page and a half and immediately returns to Paris having done little more than pose for pictures. Then just as suddenly, the books ends with a big, unsatisfying question mark. Even the boxing matches are reduced to little more than didactic description accompanied by snapshot-like panels. Unlike last year's masterful "Golem's Mighty Swing," (see the TIME.comix review), about a Jewish baseball team, one never feels the author has any great love or knowledge of the sport he portrays. Perhaps the world's oldest sports metaphor, boxing as a racial/political crucible has been...
This last fact is rammed home early by a painting, Onkel Rudi (Uncle Rudi), 1965, enlarged from a snapshot of Richter's uncle grinning broadly, about to go to the front in his uniform. The uniform is a double-breasted Wehrmacht overcoat, for Uncle died for his Fuhrer. It comes as a shock. What is that damn Nazi doing in the Museum of Modern Art? His real home is even more jarring: Richter gave the painting to the memorial in Lidice, Czech Republic, commemorating one of the horrific slaughters of World War II. The image, taken from a family photo...