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Tutta sola al centro della Terra
Il racconto di sei mesi nella vita di un’artista, tra demoni della creatività e il fantasma della depressione che stringe in una morsa senza scampo. Un racconto sincero, appassionato, in cui l’autrice si mette a nudo con un’onestà che rende Tutta sola al centro della Terra un nuovo punto di riferimento per l’autofiction a fumetti. Il talento di Zoe Thorogood in un doloroso ma necessario viaggio introspettivo.
Kindle Edition
First published November 9, 2022
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16394 people want to read
About the author
Zoe Thorogood
47 books690 followersZoe Thorogood is an English cartoonist. While studying video game art at university, Thorogood began working as a freelance comic book artist. She achieved notoriety with her graphic novels The Impending Blindness of Billie Scott (2020, Avery Hill Publishing) and It's Lonely at the Centre of the Earth (2022, Image Comics).
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November 16, 2024
‘Maybe I’d be dead if not for this. But instead I’m going to make something that didn’t exist before. And I think that’s beautiful.’
What is the purpose of art? This is a question everyone from philosophers to the drunk next to you at the bar has grappled with since, well, someone first smeared some berries on a wall and someone was affected by it. You can always find the big, heavy quotations that attempt to maximize the beauty into a universal struggle for goodness and connectivity that improves us all, like Leo Tolstoy saying art ‘is a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals and of humanity,’ but whew, if this is at a party it’ll kill the vibes pretty quickly. Besides, someone’s got a meme with good graphic design (I’m gonna guess a mountain range) of some shallow quote about Earth just being ‘eh’ without it that will basically cover the same grounds. Sharability, intended audience, subjectivity and what not. What I’m getting at is that maybe the power of art is an artwork all to itself. No, that sounds trite but the idea of letters colliding into a statement that will give a feeling is pretty cool at least, right?
I’m getting carried away here
What we are gathered for here today is to celebrate Zoe Thorogood and It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth, her marvelous ‘auto-bio-graphical novel’ that deals with art, depression, suicide, and just living a life. This is an exciting and wild ride through some heavy territory with a chaos of artistic styles (all of them extraordinary) and stories that form a larger portrait that feels pretty damn…human. There is a frenetic energy that roars forward through this highly metafictional memoir experiment that would feel twee or already well-trodden in lesser hands but becomes this incredible work that feels just as messy and lovely as real life should be. It is a controlled mess, one that is certainly well thought out but reads naturally. Sure, it might be a little over-the-top at times but that’s what makes it work—it pushes everything just a little too far because that zone is where magic is made.
You are going to want to read this.
This isn’t a light read, but Thorogood blends the harsh introspections with gallows humor and slapstick fun that keeps this bouncing forwards and impossible to put down. The art is fantastic, pivoting between styles and alternating between bright colors to black and white ink frames in a way that feels akin to the ups and downs of moods when struggling with depression. Which, to be fair, is a primary theme of this book. The story follows Zoe writing this book about writing herself for a period of six months, though it sways through the timeline of her entire life as well as into more abstract realms of her creative mind.
This is a highly self-conscious book, capturing the very human inner contradictions and inner dialogues we all face, particularly during moments of self-doubt. Thorogood is very open and honest—often under the guise of self-deprecating humor—about her mental health, issues with life and struggles with her family. There is a discussion on depression being passed down through generations while the elder generations view mental health as a ‘dirty secret’ and don’t like how openly she speaks about her own, something I’ve experienced or seen far too often. This is a highly empathetic book, one that you may likely feel is showing you to yourself through the lens of her own self-analysis and so much so that she even jokes about how often people call her work relatable. It is existence exposed in all its messy flaws and joys, a book teeming with life and the feeling that ‘you’re getting older but you don’t know how to grow up.’
Did I mention most people are drawn as people with animal heads? It is awesome. I love her art and vision so much.
Some might be quick to dismiss some of the book as naval-gazing or too much pop philosophy, I think that those aspects are some of what makes it work best. Because it is self-conscious about that too, with Thorogood following up bold statements like ‘Reading a book, hearing a song, observing a painting—that’s connection. Sometimes wires get crossed and things get misinterpreted--but that’s pretty damn human, right?’ with a dismissal of it that she is ‘sucking her own dick.’ The self-conscious aspects there are real, and its a great technique (and you can quietly admit to yourself that the lofty moments actually are beautiful while still getting to laugh at yourself for it). This comes across screaming Cool then scowls at the idea of being cool. Which, let’s face it, is pretty cool. But ‘cool’ isn’t the point, because this is about struggling and trying to find your way. It’s so wrapped in layers of self-criticism and sneering at itself that it’s hard to get a hold on, but I think capturing that very thing is what makes this so well done.
In the end, this is a book about experiencing and creating art. There are the moments about how it can help or heal, the old Picasso saying stuff like ‘art washes from the soul the dust of everyday life’ vibes. But more importantly the metafictional aspects of creating and how we are in turn created through critical analysis in the minds of others. ‘Zoe was hit with the horrible realization that she was, in fact, a real person. A real person whose art could be perceived and interpreted by other very real people,’ she writes at one point (with a nice line about her book getting polarizing ratings on Goodreads). Art is something we experience, and while it is an individual battle to create, it becomes a social item that everyone consumes, comments on, takes with them in their heart or leaves behind. There is also the fun aspect of realizing how much narratives shape our ideas about life. ‘I didn’t realize until later that the underdog was always the hero because all writers were losers at school,’ she observes at one point on her childhood belief in her own goodness. Which, at heart, is an early lesson on how art reaches out to hold your hand in moments of hardship. She begins to realize her earlier work The Impending Blindness of Billie Scott is very much about creating a narrative of who she is becoming who she wants to be, while this book about writing this very book is more a look at who she is afraid she is becoming.
The Covid pandemic figures into the story as well, derailing her success after her first book by canceling her book tour and plunging her into solitude. Connectivity with others becomes a major concept she turns over, examining how much the self is observed as a product of other’s observations, though also how lonely one can be without it. She chronicles friendships, a failed romance and more. While life may not have any answers, what we arrive at here is lovely enough:
That is as good as any reason to make art. Or to be you and communicate with others. I was touched by this a lot, remembering how I used to leave paintings with favorite poems written on them on trees around my town. Mostly just as an ‘I was here’ but also to hopefully have someone pause, read, and be touched by poetry even for only a moment. And hopefully feel good about the world. So yes, I believe this to be true. Zoe Thorogood’s It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth has affected me, I think it is marvelous, and now I am passing it along through this review that might affect you. All without ever really seeing or knowing each other. But I’m also shoving this into the face of every person that walks into the bookstore and library I work at. I hope Thorogood is doing well and will create more art. We can all benefit from being affected by it.
5/5
What is the purpose of art? This is a question everyone from philosophers to the drunk next to you at the bar has grappled with since, well, someone first smeared some berries on a wall and someone was affected by it. You can always find the big, heavy quotations that attempt to maximize the beauty into a universal struggle for goodness and connectivity that improves us all, like Leo Tolstoy saying art ‘is a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals and of humanity,’ but whew, if this is at a party it’ll kill the vibes pretty quickly. Besides, someone’s got a meme with good graphic design (I’m gonna guess a mountain range) of some shallow quote about Earth just being ‘eh’ without it that will basically cover the same grounds. Sharability, intended audience, subjectivity and what not. What I’m getting at is that maybe the power of art is an artwork all to itself. No, that sounds trite but the idea of letters colliding into a statement that will give a feeling is pretty cool at least, right?
I’m getting carried away here
What we are gathered for here today is to celebrate Zoe Thorogood and It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth, her marvelous ‘auto-bio-graphical novel’ that deals with art, depression, suicide, and just living a life. This is an exciting and wild ride through some heavy territory with a chaos of artistic styles (all of them extraordinary) and stories that form a larger portrait that feels pretty damn…human. There is a frenetic energy that roars forward through this highly metafictional memoir experiment that would feel twee or already well-trodden in lesser hands but becomes this incredible work that feels just as messy and lovely as real life should be. It is a controlled mess, one that is certainly well thought out but reads naturally. Sure, it might be a little over-the-top at times but that’s what makes it work—it pushes everything just a little too far because that zone is where magic is made.
You are going to want to read this.
This isn’t a light read, but Thorogood blends the harsh introspections with gallows humor and slapstick fun that keeps this bouncing forwards and impossible to put down. The art is fantastic, pivoting between styles and alternating between bright colors to black and white ink frames in a way that feels akin to the ups and downs of moods when struggling with depression. Which, to be fair, is a primary theme of this book. The story follows Zoe writing this book about writing herself for a period of six months, though it sways through the timeline of her entire life as well as into more abstract realms of her creative mind.
This is a highly self-conscious book, capturing the very human inner contradictions and inner dialogues we all face, particularly during moments of self-doubt. Thorogood is very open and honest—often under the guise of self-deprecating humor—about her mental health, issues with life and struggles with her family. There is a discussion on depression being passed down through generations while the elder generations view mental health as a ‘dirty secret’ and don’t like how openly she speaks about her own, something I’ve experienced or seen far too often. This is a highly empathetic book, one that you may likely feel is showing you to yourself through the lens of her own self-analysis and so much so that she even jokes about how often people call her work relatable. It is existence exposed in all its messy flaws and joys, a book teeming with life and the feeling that ‘you’re getting older but you don’t know how to grow up.’
Did I mention most people are drawn as people with animal heads? It is awesome. I love her art and vision so much.
Some might be quick to dismiss some of the book as naval-gazing or too much pop philosophy, I think that those aspects are some of what makes it work best. Because it is self-conscious about that too, with Thorogood following up bold statements like ‘Reading a book, hearing a song, observing a painting—that’s connection. Sometimes wires get crossed and things get misinterpreted--but that’s pretty damn human, right?’ with a dismissal of it that she is ‘sucking her own dick.’ The self-conscious aspects there are real, and its a great technique (and you can quietly admit to yourself that the lofty moments actually are beautiful while still getting to laugh at yourself for it). This comes across screaming Cool then scowls at the idea of being cool. Which, let’s face it, is pretty cool. But ‘cool’ isn’t the point, because this is about struggling and trying to find your way. It’s so wrapped in layers of self-criticism and sneering at itself that it’s hard to get a hold on, but I think capturing that very thing is what makes this so well done.
In the end, this is a book about experiencing and creating art. There are the moments about how it can help or heal, the old Picasso saying stuff like ‘art washes from the soul the dust of everyday life’ vibes. But more importantly the metafictional aspects of creating and how we are in turn created through critical analysis in the minds of others. ‘Zoe was hit with the horrible realization that she was, in fact, a real person. A real person whose art could be perceived and interpreted by other very real people,’ she writes at one point (with a nice line about her book getting polarizing ratings on Goodreads). Art is something we experience, and while it is an individual battle to create, it becomes a social item that everyone consumes, comments on, takes with them in their heart or leaves behind. There is also the fun aspect of realizing how much narratives shape our ideas about life. ‘I didn’t realize until later that the underdog was always the hero because all writers were losers at school,’ she observes at one point on her childhood belief in her own goodness. Which, at heart, is an early lesson on how art reaches out to hold your hand in moments of hardship. She begins to realize her earlier work The Impending Blindness of Billie Scott is very much about creating a narrative of who she is becoming who she wants to be, while this book about writing this very book is more a look at who she is afraid she is becoming.
The Covid pandemic figures into the story as well, derailing her success after her first book by canceling her book tour and plunging her into solitude. Connectivity with others becomes a major concept she turns over, examining how much the self is observed as a product of other’s observations, though also how lonely one can be without it. She chronicles friendships, a failed romance and more. While life may not have any answers, what we arrive at here is lovely enough:
‘Someone, somewhere, right now is being impacted by your existence—whether good or bad. That’s what I choose to believe this is all about. Not connection—but how we affect each other. Even at a distance.’
That is as good as any reason to make art. Or to be you and communicate with others. I was touched by this a lot, remembering how I used to leave paintings with favorite poems written on them on trees around my town. Mostly just as an ‘I was here’ but also to hopefully have someone pause, read, and be touched by poetry even for only a moment. And hopefully feel good about the world. So yes, I believe this to be true. Zoe Thorogood’s It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth has affected me, I think it is marvelous, and now I am passing it along through this review that might affect you. All without ever really seeing or knowing each other. But I’m also shoving this into the face of every person that walks into the bookstore and library I work at. I hope Thorogood is doing well and will create more art. We can all benefit from being affected by it.
5/5
April 19, 2023
This is the most emo, self-absorbed, pretentious piece of crap I've read in a while.
If you consider yourself a misunderstood emo kid, this will knock your socks off.
If you're looking for logical progression or just any kind of meaningful story in general, this is not for you, my friends.
There is basically no plot - it's just the author drawing random pictures and talking about how art is everything even though her life is a mess and trying to make sense of her misery by inflicting on the page and, as a consequence, the reader.
There's no humility to aid feelings of sympathy; in fact, she comes across as obnoxiously obsessed with her depression and how 'not like other people' she is because of it, which also makes her super relatable. What a conundrum.
I'm not big on self-pity so this really rubbed me the wrong way. I understand how debilitating mental illnesses can be but I think wallowing in it to the extent of inviting others to wallow with you is problematic.
The artwork is a messy jumble of styles; very little colour, and Goodnight Punpun-style simplistic heads on detailed bodies; full page spreads of crap and detailed panels interspersed with narration. There's no consistency to the artwork and while this does a decent job of reflecting the muddled mind, it had a rather nonsensical feel.
So many times I found myself wondering what it was trying to say. It's an unfiltered expression of emotion and while I respect the author's choice to publish it I don't think it's polished enough for general consumption. I felt no empathy reading it - rather, I wanted her to take control those times she realised she was enjoying her misery. Ultimately, it was an incredibly frustrating read.
It's an excellent visual representation of depression and self-pity because there's no logic to it and it's incredibly self-absorbed. She was awful to the people around her and seemed comfortable admitting so with no shame. Honesty is fine but it really didn't work in her favour.
Guh.
Look, I probably sound like an insensitive jerk criticising an autobiographical account of depression. I'm not completely heartless - I do feel for her and I hope she finds a way to her own light. This was distressing to read because she's really embracing her illness instead of seeking help, and that's concerning to me. The people that will really love this comic are the ones that will relate to the messiness of mental illness and this comic does nothing to encourage seeking help - instead it seems to share the message that it's okay to wallow and stay blinded by your own misery. I HATE that.
At the same time, I do believe creative expression is really helpful, so maybe people will read this and channel their own negative emotions into art.
Personally, this didn't work for me at all, but I'm glad the lonely are finding a kindred spirit in its pages.
If you consider yourself a misunderstood emo kid, this will knock your socks off.
If you're looking for logical progression or just any kind of meaningful story in general, this is not for you, my friends.
There is basically no plot - it's just the author drawing random pictures and talking about how art is everything even though her life is a mess and trying to make sense of her misery by inflicting on the page and, as a consequence, the reader.
There's no humility to aid feelings of sympathy; in fact, she comes across as obnoxiously obsessed with her depression and how 'not like other people' she is because of it, which also makes her super relatable. What a conundrum.
I'm not big on self-pity so this really rubbed me the wrong way. I understand how debilitating mental illnesses can be but I think wallowing in it to the extent of inviting others to wallow with you is problematic.
The artwork is a messy jumble of styles; very little colour, and Goodnight Punpun-style simplistic heads on detailed bodies; full page spreads of crap and detailed panels interspersed with narration. There's no consistency to the artwork and while this does a decent job of reflecting the muddled mind, it had a rather nonsensical feel.
So many times I found myself wondering what it was trying to say. It's an unfiltered expression of emotion and while I respect the author's choice to publish it I don't think it's polished enough for general consumption. I felt no empathy reading it - rather, I wanted her to take control those times she realised she was enjoying her misery. Ultimately, it was an incredibly frustrating read.
It's an excellent visual representation of depression and self-pity because there's no logic to it and it's incredibly self-absorbed. She was awful to the people around her and seemed comfortable admitting so with no shame. Honesty is fine but it really didn't work in her favour.
Guh.
Look, I probably sound like an insensitive jerk criticising an autobiographical account of depression. I'm not completely heartless - I do feel for her and I hope she finds a way to her own light. This was distressing to read because she's really embracing her illness instead of seeking help, and that's concerning to me. The people that will really love this comic are the ones that will relate to the messiness of mental illness and this comic does nothing to encourage seeking help - instead it seems to share the message that it's okay to wallow and stay blinded by your own misery. I HATE that.
At the same time, I do believe creative expression is really helpful, so maybe people will read this and channel their own negative emotions into art.
Personally, this didn't work for me at all, but I'm glad the lonely are finding a kindred spirit in its pages.
April 29, 2024
I've read a lot of comics (and other) memoirs lately about depression, but none quite as lively and inventive as this. Faced with the knowledge that there are many such stories out there, and feeling self-conscious about her adding yet another one to the pile, she nevertheless sallies forth. But over the course of some 3,200 days Thorogood faces her depression, including some suicidal ideation, exacerbated by the isolation of the pandemic, and shares with us the meta-narrative of her stylistic choices.
For instance, she knows we have to in some sense "like" her if it is a memoir, even one about such an intimate subject. Anr she knows most memoirs are pretty straightforward; most authors in this genre don't want to make it too difficult for their readers. Nevertheless, she takes a stylistic risk; she decides to create animal-selves and other fictional characters that she engages with, dialogues with, argues with. I guess one point is that in spite of everything she doesn't give up; she keeps drawing and telling her story. Part of this book becomes a meditation on art in the creation of a/her self. It feels like it could be a very important book for a lot of people, as it considers the process of a story about depression even as she tells that story.
For instance, she knows we have to in some sense "like" her if it is a memoir, even one about such an intimate subject. Anr she knows most memoirs are pretty straightforward; most authors in this genre don't want to make it too difficult for their readers. Nevertheless, she takes a stylistic risk; she decides to create animal-selves and other fictional characters that she engages with, dialogues with, argues with. I guess one point is that in spite of everything she doesn't give up; she keeps drawing and telling her story. Part of this book becomes a meditation on art in the creation of a/her self. It feels like it could be a very important book for a lot of people, as it considers the process of a story about depression even as she tells that story.
June 8, 2024
I read this after hearing of Thorogood's struggles with depression and suicidal thoughts. My sister struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts for many years. I thought I might learn something. I thought I would relate. But I didn't. The artwork was excellent when it wasn't all bubble-headed characters, but the story lacked any real focus and was so incredibly pretentious that I spent half the time wondering what the author was really trying to say.
December 24, 2023
It's sad that in 21. century we are afraid to talk about mental issues. The reason for it has to do with the fact that most of those talks end up with some shitty phrase of „support“ such as „think positive“, „you can do it“, „there is nothing wrong with you“ from those you think of as friends. Yet, some people decide to let it all out. A burst of creative energy that gives us a remarkable piece of art with artists pieces of themselves embedded into it.
That's what Zoe did with her It's Lonely at the Center of the Earth graphic novel. She starts her auto-bio-graphical-novel with a dancing protagonist, narrating that if this was a movie, it would an introduction to a slice of life drama or a romcom, but it isn't and she wants to stab herself in the neck with a sharp knife.
I don't want to kill myself because he left me. I want to kill myself because I understand why he did.
That pretty much sums the struggle with mental health, which those who haven't experienced it don't know nothing about nor they can understand it fully for being trapped by your own mind is a terrible thing. Because that is what it feels like, you are a guest in your own body. A robot devoid of any emotion who understands everything that happens around you, yet you don't care about any of it.
What comes on the following pages is a slice of a life story, no matter what Zoe might say. Not an ordinary life, but that of an artist. Of somebody who's encumbered with burden of depression, suicidal thoughts and anxiety. Who has to live every day with the cloud above them, with that monster that lurks in dark corners of mind waiting for an opportunity to attack.
Sure, Zoe uses humor and mix of art styles to give this story a bit of sunshine. And she manages it, creating an amazing piece of surreal art that should be read by everybody.
P.S.
Sorry, Zoe. I find it relatable, as I'm sure many of your readers will do.
That's what Zoe did with her It's Lonely at the Center of the Earth graphic novel. She starts her auto-bio-graphical-novel with a dancing protagonist, narrating that if this was a movie, it would an introduction to a slice of life drama or a romcom, but it isn't and she wants to stab herself in the neck with a sharp knife.
I don't want to kill myself because he left me. I want to kill myself because I understand why he did.
That pretty much sums the struggle with mental health, which those who haven't experienced it don't know nothing about nor they can understand it fully for being trapped by your own mind is a terrible thing. Because that is what it feels like, you are a guest in your own body. A robot devoid of any emotion who understands everything that happens around you, yet you don't care about any of it.
What comes on the following pages is a slice of a life story, no matter what Zoe might say. Not an ordinary life, but that of an artist. Of somebody who's encumbered with burden of depression, suicidal thoughts and anxiety. Who has to live every day with the cloud above them, with that monster that lurks in dark corners of mind waiting for an opportunity to attack.
Sure, Zoe uses humor and mix of art styles to give this story a bit of sunshine. And she manages it, creating an amazing piece of surreal art that should be read by everybody.
P.S.
Sorry, Zoe. I find it relatable, as I'm sure many of your readers will do.
December 21, 2022
A sad, young woman gets all dreary in this meta memoir about depression. But the art is sharp as hell and the humor isn't far behind when it comes around in the funk. A mixed bag, for sure, with all its numerous and sometimes annoying affectations, but engaging and worthy of attention.
March 5, 2023
In this autobiographical graphic novel, creator Zoe Thorogood offers an honest look at what her depression feels like and how it affects her life and her relationships with others. This is a very dark book, but there is some small hope offered in the creative process. Thorogood expresses how the urge to create comics gives her the power to go on . . . for now. I appreciate the honesty of this book. I wasn't aware of the struggles that people with depression go through. By sharing her story, Thorogood makes it easier for me to understand these struggles.
The art in this book is amazing. Thorogood uses different drawing styles and colors in an imaginative way that makes it easier to understand which mental perspective is being focused on. There is a lot to learn about comic techniques from this book.
The art in this book is amazing. Thorogood uses different drawing styles and colors in an imaginative way that makes it easier to understand which mental perspective is being focused on. There is a lot to learn about comic techniques from this book.
December 22, 2022
I think this book accomplished its purpose of documenting Thorogood’s life as she tried to get her shit together. But I’m not sure what the audience was supposed to take away except …relatability. I certainly connected with many of her anecdotes, but when I finished reading I felt like it didn’t actually share all that much? It jumped back and forth between the 6 month period and other parts of her life yet mostly lacked a personal level. Some parts had depth but it felt like much of it was very surface level, which is understandable considering the subject and the freshness of it. It made me feel a little less alone in this world but I wouldn’t encourage a friend anywhere on their mental health journey to read this because I left it mostly feeling confused. I’m glad other reviews seem to have seen something in it that I didn’t and people seem to have benefited from the book. I really wish I had :/
August 26, 2025
[این ریویو نوشته چت جیپیتیه. من اطلاعات خام و نظر شخصیمو بهش گفتم تا بر همون اساس ریویو بنویسه]
گرافیک ناول It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth یک اتوبیوگرافی و اثری است که نقطه آغازین هر صفحهاش آتشی ست ویرانگر در خرمنگاه خلاقیت و افسردگی.. زوئی ثوروگود، زبانههای این آتش را مهار میکند و به تصویرش میکشد. گهگاه این آتش از صفحهای شراره میکشد و ما را نیز میسوزاند [من نوشته بودم "موج خلاقیت" چت تغییرش داد به "آتش"].
به قول منتقد مجله کامیک سین، ساختار بصری اثر وسیعالطیف و نبوغآمیز است: هر صفحه سبک بصری متفاوتی دارد، از رئالیسم تا کارتون، کولاژ، خطوط مینیمال، و حتی طراحی حروفآرایی خلاق. [ حتی صفحات خالی هم با هدف و فکر قبلی وارد شدن. به علاوه تدوین پنلها و کنارهمچینی صفحات هم بی نقص و هدفمنده.] این نوسانها بهقدری شگفتآورند که خواننده گاهی میخواهد برای لذت بردن از یک پنل، داستان را کنار بگذارد، نفس بکشد و دوباره برگردد به آن لحظه [راست میگه].
زویی ثوروگود صداقتی دردناک دارد؛ هم برای افسردگی و اضطراب از جمع و سندرم ایمپاستِر خودش و هم نسبت به مخاطب این اثر. او هرگز به دنبال رضایت خواننده، سر خم نمی کند و فقط سعی در نشان دادن حقیقتِ لُخت با تنها زبانی که در آن رسا ست دارد: داستانگویی. او در تلاش است خودش را در میان هیاهوی درونش پیدا کند. از نظر بسیاری، این اثر نهتنها یکی از بهترین گرافیکناولهایی است که خواندهاند، بلکه یک “تسلط بر زبان تصویر” است که فقط در این رسانه ممکن است [علاوه بر منتقد مجله کامیک سین، گلسکو ریویو، بروکن فرانتییر، کامیک واچ، پابلیشینگ ویکلی و مانکی فایتینگ روبات هم همین نظرو داشتن]. روایتش خلاقانه، صریح، با لحظاتی طنز تلخ، دلشکسته و گاهی خیرهکننده است.
[به علاوه، این اثر منو یاد یه نفر میندازه که بعد از خوندن این کامیک تازه فهمیدم دلیل رفتاراش چی بود و این اونقدر فکریم کرده که نشد یه ریویو کوتاه براش بنویسم و همین شد که سرفقلیشو دادم به چت.]
گرافیک ناول It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth یک اتوبیوگرافی و اثری است که نقطه آغازین هر صفحهاش آتشی ست ویرانگر در خرمنگاه خلاقیت و افسردگی.. زوئی ثوروگود، زبانههای این آتش را مهار میکند و به تصویرش میکشد. گهگاه این آتش از صفحهای شراره میکشد و ما را نیز میسوزاند [من نوشته بودم "موج خلاقیت" چت تغییرش داد به "آتش"].
به قول منتقد مجله کامیک سین، ساختار بصری اثر وسیعالطیف و نبوغآمیز است: هر صفحه سبک بصری متفاوتی دارد، از رئالیسم تا کارتون، کولاژ، خطوط مینیمال، و حتی طراحی حروفآرایی خلاق. [ حتی صفحات خالی هم با هدف و فکر قبلی وارد شدن. به علاوه تدوین پنلها و کنارهمچینی صفحات هم بی نقص و هدفمنده.] این نوسانها بهقدری شگفتآورند که خواننده گاهی میخواهد برای لذت بردن از یک پنل، داستان را کنار بگذارد، نفس بکشد و دوباره برگردد به آن لحظه [راست میگه].
زویی ثوروگود صداقتی دردناک دارد؛ هم برای افسردگی و اضطراب از جمع و سندرم ایمپاستِر خودش و هم نسبت به مخاطب این اثر. او هرگز به دنبال رضایت خواننده، سر خم نمی کند و فقط سعی در نشان دادن حقیقتِ لُخت با تنها زبانی که در آن رسا ست دارد: داستانگویی. او در تلاش است خودش را در میان هیاهوی درونش پیدا کند. از نظر بسیاری، این اثر نهتنها یکی از بهترین گرافیکناولهایی است که خواندهاند، بلکه یک “تسلط بر زبان تصویر” است که فقط در این رسانه ممکن است [علاوه بر منتقد مجله کامیک سین، گلسکو ریویو، بروکن فرانتییر، کامیک واچ، پابلیشینگ ویکلی و مانکی فایتینگ روبات هم همین نظرو داشتن]. روایتش خلاقانه، صریح، با لحظاتی طنز تلخ، دلشکسته و گاهی خیرهکننده است.
[به علاوه، این اثر منو یاد یه نفر میندازه که بعد از خوندن این کامیک تازه فهمیدم دلیل رفتاراش چی بود و این اونقدر فکریم کرده که نشد یه ریویو کوتاه براش بنویسم و همین شد که سرفقلیشو دادم به چت.]
October 28, 2024
افسردگی تجربهایه که ذاتش تو رو تنها میکنه، چون هرکس به شیوهی سیاه خودش تجربهش میکنه. نقشهی هزارتوی تاریکی که مجبور میشی ازشون عبور کنی برای هیچ دو نفری دقیقاً یکسان نیست. اما شباهتهایی وجود داره که بهت نشان میده این اول و آخر هم یک تجربهی انسانیه و شاید از هزارتوی تاریکی که فکر میکردی درونش کاملاً تنهایی، انسان دیگری هم عبور کرده
تجربهی خواندن کمیک/زندگینامهی زوئی توروگود و مخصوصاً دیدن آرت کتاب برام اثبات همین بود. زندگی من و تجربم از افسردگی، با زندگی و تجربهی زوئی کیلومترها فاصله داره. ما تقریباً هیچ نقطه مشترکی با هم نداریم. اما وقتی هیولای افسردگیش رو دیدم که بلندتر از خودش بالای شونههاش ایستاده و نه تنها خمش کرده، روی زندگیش هم سایه انداخته، دلم لرزید. کتاب هیچ داستان خاصی نداره. درسته که داره شش ماه از زندگی زوئی و تقلاش برای زنده موندن رو نشان میده و حتی گذاری به گذشته میزنه، اما نمیشه گفت ماجرای مهمی داره
ولی این کمیک برای داستانش نوشته نشده. برای این نوشته شده که هنر، افسردگی و اضطراب رو روی کاغذ بیاره و هنرمند بتونی دردش رو از توی سرش بیرون بکشه و نشان بده. چون چیزی که درد رو انقدر دردناک میکنه اینه که دیدنی و گفتنی نیست و به سختی در زنجیر تصویر و کلمه قرار میگیره. زوئی توروگود اما به نظرم در مورد اول به طرز غریب و حتی آزاردهندهای موفق بوده
بسیاری از صفحات رنگی و بسیاری سیاه و سفید هستند که به خوبی لنز تیرهای که افسردگی رو چشمها میاندازه رو به تصویر میکشند. هیچوقت یادم نمیره که بعد از سختترین دورهی افسردگیم که تقریباً من رو کشت، یک لحظه متوجه شدم که دوباره دارم رنگها رو میبینم و آنچنان گریه کردم که انگار کسی رو از دست داده بودم. اما در واقع رنگهایی که حتی نمیدونستم از دست دادم به زندگیم برگشته بودند
زوئی تقریباً هرجا در اجتماعه و در خلوت تنهاییش نیست، خودش رو با نقاب سفیدی به تصویر میکشه که صورت واقعیش رو نشان نمیده. سر انسانهای دیگر رو هم با حیوانات مختلف به تصویر کشیده و این صفحهها غایت حس بیگانگی و جدایی از دنیای اطراف هستند. عدم تعلق بینهایتی که تمام مغز رو در تاریکی خودش غرق میکنه. همچنین، در فریمهایی از کمیک که مخصوصاً با خودش تنهاست، چند نسخه از خودش دائم در حال بحث و تصمیمگیری هستند. نسخهی کودک و امیدوار خودش، نسخهی بزرگسال و سرزنشگر خودش و موجودی که نماد عقلشه، اما عقلی که از اضطراب و افسردگی مصون نمانده و مسموم شده
خیلی از نوشتههای بیست سالگی من دربارهی صداهای توی سرم بودند و اصلا مینوشتم که برای چند لحظه خودم کنترل رو در دست بگیرم. منی که مثل زوئی اکثر اوقات فقط شنوندهی دعوای توی سرم بودم. تقریباً از بعد از بیست و نه سالگی حس کردم که صدای خودم از صداهای درون سرم بلندتر شده و از همون زمان بود که ماسک روی صورتم هم خیلی وقتها میوفته و من شبیه خودم میشم و آدمها بیشتر خودم رو میبینن. اینها رو مینویسم که بگم تجربهی زندگی در روان و بدنی که توسط انگل افسردگی و اضطراب فراگیر تصاحب شده، تجربهی ترسناکیه که صفحههای این کتاب به خوبی استیصالش رو منتقل میکنه
عکسهای کتاب و فایلش رو هم اینجا گذاشتم
Maede's Books
۱۴۰۳/۸/۶
تجربهی خواندن کمیک/زندگینامهی زوئی توروگود و مخصوصاً دیدن آرت کتاب برام اثبات همین بود. زندگی من و تجربم از افسردگی، با زندگی و تجربهی زوئی کیلومترها فاصله داره. ما تقریباً هیچ نقطه مشترکی با هم نداریم. اما وقتی هیولای افسردگیش رو دیدم که بلندتر از خودش بالای شونههاش ایستاده و نه تنها خمش کرده، روی زندگیش هم سایه انداخته، دلم لرزید. کتاب هیچ داستان خاصی نداره. درسته که داره شش ماه از زندگی زوئی و تقلاش برای زنده موندن رو نشان میده و حتی گذاری به گذشته میزنه، اما نمیشه گفت ماجرای مهمی داره
ولی این کمیک برای داستانش نوشته نشده. برای این نوشته شده که هنر، افسردگی و اضطراب رو روی کاغذ بیاره و هنرمند بتونی دردش رو از توی سرش بیرون بکشه و نشان بده. چون چیزی که درد رو انقدر دردناک میکنه اینه که دیدنی و گفتنی نیست و به سختی در زنجیر تصویر و کلمه قرار میگیره. زوئی توروگود اما به نظرم در مورد اول به طرز غریب و حتی آزاردهندهای موفق بوده
بسیاری از صفحات رنگی و بسیاری سیاه و سفید هستند که به خوبی لنز تیرهای که افسردگی رو چشمها میاندازه رو به تصویر میکشند. هیچوقت یادم نمیره که بعد از سختترین دورهی افسردگیم که تقریباً من رو کشت، یک لحظه متوجه شدم که دوباره دارم رنگها رو میبینم و آنچنان گریه کردم که انگار کسی رو از دست داده بودم. اما در واقع رنگهایی که حتی نمیدونستم از دست دادم به زندگیم برگشته بودند
زوئی تقریباً هرجا در اجتماعه و در خلوت تنهاییش نیست، خودش رو با نقاب سفیدی به تصویر میکشه که صورت واقعیش رو نشان نمیده. سر انسانهای دیگر رو هم با حیوانات مختلف به تصویر کشیده و این صفحهها غایت حس بیگانگی و جدایی از دنیای اطراف هستند. عدم تعلق بینهایتی که تمام مغز رو در تاریکی خودش غرق میکنه. همچنین، در فریمهایی از کمیک که مخصوصاً با خودش تنهاست، چند نسخه از خودش دائم در حال بحث و تصمیمگیری هستند. نسخهی کودک و امیدوار خودش، نسخهی بزرگسال و سرزنشگر خودش و موجودی که نماد عقلشه، اما عقلی که از اضطراب و افسردگی مصون نمانده و مسموم شده
خیلی از نوشتههای بیست سالگی من دربارهی صداهای توی سرم بودند و اصلا مینوشتم که برای چند لحظه خودم کنترل رو در دست بگیرم. منی که مثل زوئی اکثر اوقات فقط شنوندهی دعوای توی سرم بودم. تقریباً از بعد از بیست و نه سالگی حس کردم که صدای خودم از صداهای درون سرم بلندتر شده و از همون زمان بود که ماسک روی صورتم هم خیلی وقتها میوفته و من شبیه خودم میشم و آدمها بیشتر خودم رو میبینن. اینها رو مینویسم که بگم تجربهی زندگی در روان و بدنی که توسط انگل افسردگی و اضطراب فراگیر تصاحب شده، تجربهی ترسناکیه که صفحههای این کتاب به خوبی استیصالش رو منتقل میکنه
عکسهای کتاب و فایلش رو هم اینجا گذاشتم
Maede's Books
۱۴۰۳/۸/۶
December 15, 2024
It's going to be too difficult to explain why I loved this so much. Pretty, sad, very meta, and a vulnerable expression of the author's suicidal thoughts and depression.
It was just so fantastically weird.
Weirdly beautiful.
Beautifully realistic.
Realistically fantastic.
It was a darkly humorous, chaotic, winding mess of an autobiographical graphic novel. It's art for art's sake—as all truly beautiful things are.
It was just so fantastically weird.
Weirdly beautiful.
Beautifully realistic.
Realistically fantastic.
It was a darkly humorous, chaotic, winding mess of an autobiographical graphic novel. It's art for art's sake—as all truly beautiful things are.
December 3, 2022
Read full review of It's Lonely at the Centre of the Earth
Easily one of the best reads of the year by a cartoonist who is as exciting as there currently is.
Zoe had an earlier graphic novel that I thought was excellent but still felt just a little undercooked but now with this release her trajectory really is being someone whose every project you have to get.
Easily one of the best reads of the year by a cartoonist who is as exciting as there currently is.
Zoe had an earlier graphic novel that I thought was excellent but still felt just a little undercooked but now with this release her trajectory really is being someone whose every project you have to get.
December 5, 2022
Sometimes it's okay to just exist.
November 13, 2024
هی نگهش داشتم بیام بعدا براش چیزی بنویسم اما فعلا چ هرچی بخوام بنویسم فکر میکنم یکم شخصی میشه.
کتاب بسیار خوبی بود. طراحیهاش و موضوعش و اصلا ابعاد و مدلی که به موضوع پرداخته بود مناسب بودند.
از معرفیهای مائده بود و به ریویوی خفن مائده ارجاعتون میدم. 🫡
کتاب بسیار خوبی بود. طراحیهاش و موضوعش و اصلا ابعاد و مدلی که به موضوع پرداخته بود مناسب بودند.
از معرفیهای مائده بود و به ریویوی خفن مائده ارجاعتون میدم. 🫡
November 16, 2022
i am lonely and i am good, so this was … i think i will be thinking about this book for the rest of my life
July 15, 2023
"And for the record—no one is simply 'happy' it's a temporary state of being that comes and goes, just like pain."
I want to say that It's Lonely at the Centre of the Earth by Zoe Thorogood is a bit quirky and unorthodox but it's just fascinating. It feels like a clash between past and present, an identity crisis, and an infinite possibility scenario. This graphic novel contains the best depiction I've seen about depression in a graphic novel so definitely read the trigger warnings as there are also mentions of self-harm, suicide, and substance abuse.
Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC!
I want to say that It's Lonely at the Centre of the Earth by Zoe Thorogood is a bit quirky and unorthodox but it's just fascinating. It feels like a clash between past and present, an identity crisis, and an infinite possibility scenario. This graphic novel contains the best depiction I've seen about depression in a graphic novel so definitely read the trigger warnings as there are also mentions of self-harm, suicide, and substance abuse.
Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC!
November 28, 2023
2 ⭐️
I got about halfway through before I decided to give up. I think if it had been the early 2000’s and I was still in high school I might have found this deep and profound. As an adult, this just feels like it is trying too hard.
**Thank you, NetGalley and Image Comics for sending this book for review consideration. All opinions are my own.**
I got about halfway through before I decided to give up. I think if it had been the early 2000’s and I was still in high school I might have found this deep and profound. As an adult, this just feels like it is trying too hard.
**Thank you, NetGalley and Image Comics for sending this book for review consideration. All opinions are my own.**
December 24, 2022
Pretty self-indulgent and scattered. Occasionally there will be an interesting part, like where she is terrified of tabling at a convention and then gets more comfortable with it, and she can draw really well, she just doesn’t do it often. Ok, if it’s a book done in depression, i can get that, but it just isn’t very interesting.
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October 18, 2022A miserable autobiographical indie comic where one of the things the creator is disgusted with about herself is being the sort of person who makes miserable autobiographical indie comics, "Perpetuating our own bullshit, and validating our audience's bullshit at the same time." I very deliberately don't read enough of the things to know whether that level of reflexiveness is common – certainly crippling levels of self-awareness are a mainstay of the genre – but I found this one much more engaging than most because I've seldom seen it done with quite such a combination of artistry and exasperation. Thorogood is disparaging about her own early artistic forays, but by this point she's impressively adept, flipping between styles and media as moods shift, or sometimes combining them as a form of digression. So characters' faces will be replaced with blank masks when they emotionally shut down, or at other times they might become animals, Maus-style (and turns out it's really disconcerting to see this happen with someone you actually know). This combines with the hubbub of internal voices through which she constantly second-guesses herself, a technique which reminded me more than anything of the bickering personality elements in – a comparison I doubt Thorogood will welcome, though I still think it's a masterpiece of comics craft if not politics - Dave Sim's Guys. Often these scenes are painful; a lot of us have these moments, though seldom to the same degree, and of course even this sometimes touches a raw nerve for Thorogood, being told her work is "relatable" while feeling "like an alien in human skin".
But the rejoinder to that is "Listen – you're sad and mildly insufferable. Do you have any idea how big of a base that covers?" And it's this reluctance ever to let things sink into pure misery which saves the book from ending up as gruelling a read as many of its genre bedfellows. See also: "It's a comic, for Christ's sake – can't you monologue while fighting giant space worms or something?" Or, at a simpler but no less effective level of humour, the delight in getting hotel room number 8008, because it looks like BOOB. It's that back and forth, the expertise in modulating the tone, which combine with the self-awareness and the irritation at the audience to make me want to give Thorogood the almost certainly unhelpful label of 'the Stewart Lee of miserable autobiographical indie comics'. Which I'm sure she'd regard just as gladly as she did "the future of comics" – cf the four panels in which the comic's most primitive stick figure rants "Would the 'future of comics' do this? Nothing I do matters! Look! I'm masturbating! This is a commentary on my own self-destructive behaviour! No one will see this page until it's published. Isn't that funny? They'll print anything nowadays." And it must be admitted that, while the script, art and lettering are all very good, there are places an editor could have helped; Thorogood admits to not being great at spelling, but is more often let down by grammar, and it's really not idea to have an error in the very first caption: "If this were a movie, this scene would be the introduction to it's protagonist." Still, once I was past that, even I'm not (quite) a heartless enough pedant not to feel something from the progression through "I don't want to kill myself because he left me. I want to kill myself because I understand why he did", to trudging through existence as "A vessel of meat and piss that really needs to do the washing up", to a sort of low-key epiphany and the prospect that life can maybe be better even if your brain chemistry won't play along.
(Edelweiss ARC)
But the rejoinder to that is "Listen – you're sad and mildly insufferable. Do you have any idea how big of a base that covers?" And it's this reluctance ever to let things sink into pure misery which saves the book from ending up as gruelling a read as many of its genre bedfellows. See also: "It's a comic, for Christ's sake – can't you monologue while fighting giant space worms or something?" Or, at a simpler but no less effective level of humour, the delight in getting hotel room number 8008, because it looks like BOOB. It's that back and forth, the expertise in modulating the tone, which combine with the self-awareness and the irritation at the audience to make me want to give Thorogood the almost certainly unhelpful label of 'the Stewart Lee of miserable autobiographical indie comics'. Which I'm sure she'd regard just as gladly as she did "the future of comics" – cf the four panels in which the comic's most primitive stick figure rants "Would the 'future of comics' do this? Nothing I do matters! Look! I'm masturbating! This is a commentary on my own self-destructive behaviour! No one will see this page until it's published. Isn't that funny? They'll print anything nowadays." And it must be admitted that, while the script, art and lettering are all very good, there are places an editor could have helped; Thorogood admits to not being great at spelling, but is more often let down by grammar, and it's really not idea to have an error in the very first caption: "If this were a movie, this scene would be the introduction to it's protagonist." Still, once I was past that, even I'm not (quite) a heartless enough pedant not to feel something from the progression through "I don't want to kill myself because he left me. I want to kill myself because I understand why he did", to trudging through existence as "A vessel of meat and piss that really needs to do the washing up", to a sort of low-key epiphany and the prospect that life can maybe be better even if your brain chemistry won't play along.
(Edelweiss ARC)
March 19, 2024
A very meta/fourth-wall breaking “auto-bio-graphic novel” that follows six months in the artist’s life as she tries to make art and merely survive. I found it to be a very honest depiction of depression and the art really emphasized how depression can change how you view yourself.
January 22, 2024
my favorite part is on pg.140 when the author says “I just need to stop being a pretentious cunt” and then doesn’t.
April 10, 2024
*** Thank you NetGalley and Image Comics for the arc in exchange for an honest review! I’m incredibly grateful! ***
Interesting. Shocking. Relatable. Dark. Funny. Brilliant!
Stylistically: this is one of the best graphic novels I’d had the pleasure of reading. Content-wise: I feel seen.
Reviewing this fully won’t even do it justice. Just read it!
TW: suicidal thoughts, depression, mental illness, drugs, alcohol, bullying, swearing, grief, vomit, toxic relationship
Interesting. Shocking. Relatable. Dark. Funny. Brilliant!
Stylistically: this is one of the best graphic novels I’d had the pleasure of reading. Content-wise: I feel seen.
Reviewing this fully won’t even do it justice. Just read it!
TW: suicidal thoughts, depression, mental illness, drugs, alcohol, bullying, swearing, grief, vomit, toxic relationship
July 23, 2023
A wonderful memoir, writing and drawn while being experienced. This tells a few months in the life of Thorogood after her breakout hit with 2020's The Impending Blindness of Billie Scott (a comic now bumped up to the top of my 'to-read' list).
I found her honesty quite powerful and she combines that with some very creative visuals. I liked the different characters she depicts for her internal characters/voices in her head.
I resonated with the themes of depression and suicidal ideation. It's something that I used to struggle with. I think a book like this could be really helpful for people still struggling.
I found her honesty quite powerful and she combines that with some very creative visuals. I liked the different characters she depicts for her internal characters/voices in her head.
I resonated with the themes of depression and suicidal ideation. It's something that I used to struggle with. I think a book like this could be really helpful for people still struggling.
January 21, 2023
I want one thing in a book— a plot. No plot, one star. Every time.
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January 6, 2023Develop a sense of scale
Edit: unfair 5 AM review. Feel compelled to speak my mind. Some people are simply unable to experience positive emotion around personal accomplishments and creations. I am one of them. The most helpful thing for me was reading Changing Our Minds, a lesbian feminist book critical of psychiatry and therapy. In it, one of the points is that it doesn't really matter how you feel, it matters what you do.
I gave up on wishing my various projects and accomplishments would make me "feel better". I stopped obsessing over what was wrong with me. I know what's wrong with me. Adverse child experiences around the self and creation socialized me in a way that will likely last for the rest of my life.
I withdrew my energy from it. I do the projects and make the things I want to make. I am polite and appropriate when people compliment or admire me, I hold the intellectual knowledge of their intentions, which are good and pro social. I was recently lying near death in the ICU and I was extremely comforted by how I have spent my time and the work I leave behind.
It doesn't matter how I feel or that nothing will heal it. What matters is the work I choose to make, my actions. This book is a very beautiful/ugly and unusual exploration of the polar opposite idea - that all that matters is how you feel. It made me sad. The litany of agreement is a death knell for society lmao
Cool book 😎
Edit: unfair 5 AM review. Feel compelled to speak my mind. Some people are simply unable to experience positive emotion around personal accomplishments and creations. I am one of them. The most helpful thing for me was reading Changing Our Minds, a lesbian feminist book critical of psychiatry and therapy. In it, one of the points is that it doesn't really matter how you feel, it matters what you do.
I gave up on wishing my various projects and accomplishments would make me "feel better". I stopped obsessing over what was wrong with me. I know what's wrong with me. Adverse child experiences around the self and creation socialized me in a way that will likely last for the rest of my life.
I withdrew my energy from it. I do the projects and make the things I want to make. I am polite and appropriate when people compliment or admire me, I hold the intellectual knowledge of their intentions, which are good and pro social. I was recently lying near death in the ICU and I was extremely comforted by how I have spent my time and the work I leave behind.
It doesn't matter how I feel or that nothing will heal it. What matters is the work I choose to make, my actions. This book is a very beautiful/ugly and unusual exploration of the polar opposite idea - that all that matters is how you feel. It made me sad. The litany of agreement is a death knell for society lmao
Cool book 😎
December 23, 2023
Such a unique—and heartbreaking—book. It follows the author during six months of her life as she struggles with suicidal depression, meaning that there isn’t really a storyline, as the point is to simply show what it is like in her head during that time. The art was beautifully drawn and so creative, from the multiple versions of herself across time to the depiction of her depression as a creature that follows her. And I loved how meta and subsequently mind-boggling the book was, breaking through the fourth wall and talking about itself. There is not necessarily a message about mental health to take away from this—what will stick with me instead is the idea of the importance of stories and art in helping humans survive: the need to create a reason to keep living, the nature of humanity to crave expression.
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September 14, 2024Graphic memoir by a young cartoonist, focused on her ongoing struggle with depression, particularly during a time period in the pandemic. It was very meta and non-linear. The author’s face sometimes is that of a young woman, sometimes a hairless person with undefined features, sometimes a worm. Her repetitive inner critic is frustrating to read, as no doubt it is to experience. She is wracked with lassitude and self-doubt, and spends time with a best friend who gets wasted and passes out, as well as a man she travels to visit who pines for his ex (to whom he gave an STD). An artistically inventive book that conveyed depression creatively and effectively, but I may be too old and too linear for this to have hit its mark with me.
May 2, 2025
I don’t have depression but I know people in my life who were or are depressed so while I can’t personally connect to this book it gives a very interesting insight into someone with depression and how it effects their life. Very different to what I usually read in comics but is still a very good book with great art.
July 30, 2023
I will admit, the jarring s*icidality is what lured me into this graphic novel. It's probably what kept me reading. I enjoyed all that I didn't expect: the clashing art styles, the process of panel work, the beautiful and disgusting realities of depression.
I did not find it relatable. Maybe Zoe would appreciate that I didn't. I found myself squinting at it in Black assessment because it's White Girl Relatable in an self-absorbed way that can be dangerous for people of color. It's relatable in the way "mental illness doesn't discriminate" is relatable. For example, when she renders everyone down to animals, she implicitly renders everyone down to white (except for five pages that feature a little girl who is Asian.) Despite her self-flagellation, she doesn't seem to be able to critique her indulgence in her White middle class "luck." She later states, "I learnt the power of self-deprecation at a young age... Who am I protecting with this bullshit?" It's not a quirky, rhetorical question if you're actively protecting your multiple levels of privilege.
I'm annoyed. I'm jealous and resentful. But I do see all the people who feel seen.
7/29/23: No, cause I'm still heated. Zoe thinks her art makes people feel seen? Your art makes me feel even more isolated than I did before this book.
I did not find it relatable. Maybe Zoe would appreciate that I didn't. I found myself squinting at it in Black assessment because it's White Girl Relatable in an self-absorbed way that can be dangerous for people of color. It's relatable in the way "mental illness doesn't discriminate" is relatable. For example, when she renders everyone down to animals, she implicitly renders everyone down to white (except for five pages that feature a little girl who is Asian.) Despite her self-flagellation, she doesn't seem to be able to critique her indulgence in her White middle class "luck." She later states, "I learnt the power of self-deprecation at a young age... Who am I protecting with this bullshit?" It's not a quirky, rhetorical question if you're actively protecting your multiple levels of privilege.
I'm annoyed. I'm jealous and resentful. But I do see all the people who feel seen.
7/29/23: No, cause I'm still heated. Zoe thinks her art makes people feel seen? Your art makes me feel even more isolated than I did before this book.
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