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La Tendresse des Pierres
« Si j'avais dû trouver un élément pour symboliser mon père, j'aurais choisi les pierres. Mais, attention pas les galets lisses et doux. Non, plutôt les rochers qui piquent les pieds si on leur marche dessus sans chaussures. Ceux qui sont recouverts d'aspérités. Ceux qui râpent, qui coupent, qui sont agressifs et froids. Mon père était un rocher sur lequel on aurait aimé s'agripper sans se blesser. Sous lequel on aurait aimé s'abriter sans se sentir menacé ».
Marion Fayolle réalise un chef d'œuvre éblouissant sur la recherche d'un amour manqué, celui d'un père à l'agonie. Un homme dur et insaisissable dont on souhaite réanimer la vie et l'amour. La Tendresse des Pierres sublime par delà toutes les richesses des rapports texte et image les possibilités artistiques et littéraires d'une bande dessinée moderne que l'auteur enrichit par l'influence du surréalisme et du nouveau roman.
Jean-Luc Godard disait de lui « Je suis un peintre qui fait de la littérature », une définition qui convient parfaitement à Marion Fayolle.
Marion Fayolle réalise un chef d'œuvre éblouissant sur la recherche d'un amour manqué, celui d'un père à l'agonie. Un homme dur et insaisissable dont on souhaite réanimer la vie et l'amour. La Tendresse des Pierres sublime par delà toutes les richesses des rapports texte et image les possibilités artistiques et littéraires d'une bande dessinée moderne que l'auteur enrichit par l'influence du surréalisme et du nouveau roman.
Jean-Luc Godard disait de lui « Je suis un peintre qui fait de la littérature », une définition qui convient parfaitement à Marion Fayolle.
144 pages, Hardcover
First published October 21, 2013
6 people are currently reading
350 people want to read
About the author
Marion Fayolle
21 books60 followersNée le 4 mai 1988, Marion Fayolle grandit en Ardèche et intègre l'école des Arts Décoratifs de Strasbourg en 2006 et obtient son diplôme en juin 2011.
C'est au sein de l'atelier d'illustration qu'elle rencontre Matthias Malingrey et Simon Roussin avec lesquels elle fonde en 2009 la revue Nyctalope. Son premier livre, L'homme en pièces, vient de paraître aux éditions Michel Lagarde. Il s'agit d'un recueil d'histoires sans paroles, d'un ensemble de petits numéros aux ambiances poétiques et décalées dans lesquels les parents arrosent leurs enfants comme des plantes et les femmes allument les hommes comme des bougies.
Elle travaille également pour l'édition jeunesse et la presse : revue XXI, Paris mômes...
C'est au sein de l'atelier d'illustration qu'elle rencontre Matthias Malingrey et Simon Roussin avec lesquels elle fonde en 2009 la revue Nyctalope. Son premier livre, L'homme en pièces, vient de paraître aux éditions Michel Lagarde. Il s'agit d'un recueil d'histoires sans paroles, d'un ensemble de petits numéros aux ambiances poétiques et décalées dans lesquels les parents arrosent leurs enfants comme des plantes et les femmes allument les hommes comme des bougies.
Elle travaille également pour l'édition jeunesse et la presse : revue XXI, Paris mômes...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 56 reviews
October 27, 2019
"We buried one of my dad's lungs," begins this story of cancer and caregiving, ". . . soon, other bits of his body might be removed, until we had buried it all."
Yet another amazing, beautiful production by New York Review of Books, the autobiographical (graphic) fiction of Marion Fayolle about the dying and death of her father, an event approached by her and her family in almost comic denial. It’s one of his perverse jokes! It would be just like him to pull off this horrible prank! It's not happening! And yet it is happening.
Who can come to terms with death? Who can face it head on? Fayolle uses surrealism in her art/abstract comic because death is incomprehensible, beyond our ability to represent it fairly in realism. A lung is carried away and buried. A nose is threaded through with ribbon and worn about the neck. Lips are borrowed from the faces of others. Yes, this is cancer, carving apart the body of her father, refracted in almost comic horror here.
We can’t quite make out faces; there’s a cool reserve in the representation, the feeling of a kind of tableaux, they’re sleepwalking parts in a play, and this process is treated with humor, and illustrated with lovely light-infused water-colored images to belie the unavoidably dark subject matter. The work would seem to owe something to the somewhat abstract approaches of Oliver Schrauwen, Chris Ware, and Nick Drnaso that feel on the surface as if to separate them from human emotion, yet (I think) coolly frames the every day horror of the dying of one’s family member for careful reflection: Why are we so like this?! Why are we so lost and vulnerable in the face of what we all must inevitably confront?!
So this is less comics than illustrated book, with lots more words than one would usually find in comics, in journal-like sequence, lettered in cursive. It’s art comics, philosophical, abstract, with an undercurrent of deep sadness even as she pokes fun at herself and her family. Bittersweet. For some reason it reminds me of Charlie Chaplin portraying the monster Adolph Hitler; how can we make a joke out of grief and madness? And yet it seems right.
It’s also an unsentimental reflection about her Dad:
“If I’d had to find a substance to symbolize my father, I would have chosen stones. Not, to be clear, gentle pebbles. No, more the boulders that jab your feet if you walk on them without shoes. The kind that are jagged all over. The kind that scratch, that cut, that are aggressive and cold. My father was a boulder that I longed to cling to without being wounded. That I longed to shelter beneath without feeling threatened.”
Of course as you read you think of losses you have yourself lived through: The death of my once 320 pound Uncle Lee from lung cancer when I was 13, and my parents would not allow me to see him, finally dead (yes, that word, in all its finality) weighing in at 80 pounds, the nurse allowing him one last pleasure: Helping him smoke a cig (cancer stick) one last time. My own dear mother’s death in hospice at my sister’s home in Boulder, the very moment of passing accomplished with a laugh at her expense from me and my brothers and sisters who were in a prayer circle with her pastor. Surreal? Poignant and horrible and funny and beautiful. Human.
Thanks Marion Fayolle and NYRB for a thing of beauty.
Yet another amazing, beautiful production by New York Review of Books, the autobiographical (graphic) fiction of Marion Fayolle about the dying and death of her father, an event approached by her and her family in almost comic denial. It’s one of his perverse jokes! It would be just like him to pull off this horrible prank! It's not happening! And yet it is happening.
Who can come to terms with death? Who can face it head on? Fayolle uses surrealism in her art/abstract comic because death is incomprehensible, beyond our ability to represent it fairly in realism. A lung is carried away and buried. A nose is threaded through with ribbon and worn about the neck. Lips are borrowed from the faces of others. Yes, this is cancer, carving apart the body of her father, refracted in almost comic horror here.
We can’t quite make out faces; there’s a cool reserve in the representation, the feeling of a kind of tableaux, they’re sleepwalking parts in a play, and this process is treated with humor, and illustrated with lovely light-infused water-colored images to belie the unavoidably dark subject matter. The work would seem to owe something to the somewhat abstract approaches of Oliver Schrauwen, Chris Ware, and Nick Drnaso that feel on the surface as if to separate them from human emotion, yet (I think) coolly frames the every day horror of the dying of one’s family member for careful reflection: Why are we so like this?! Why are we so lost and vulnerable in the face of what we all must inevitably confront?!
So this is less comics than illustrated book, with lots more words than one would usually find in comics, in journal-like sequence, lettered in cursive. It’s art comics, philosophical, abstract, with an undercurrent of deep sadness even as she pokes fun at herself and her family. Bittersweet. For some reason it reminds me of Charlie Chaplin portraying the monster Adolph Hitler; how can we make a joke out of grief and madness? And yet it seems right.
It’s also an unsentimental reflection about her Dad:
“If I’d had to find a substance to symbolize my father, I would have chosen stones. Not, to be clear, gentle pebbles. No, more the boulders that jab your feet if you walk on them without shoes. The kind that are jagged all over. The kind that scratch, that cut, that are aggressive and cold. My father was a boulder that I longed to cling to without being wounded. That I longed to shelter beneath without feeling threatened.”
Of course as you read you think of losses you have yourself lived through: The death of my once 320 pound Uncle Lee from lung cancer when I was 13, and my parents would not allow me to see him, finally dead (yes, that word, in all its finality) weighing in at 80 pounds, the nurse allowing him one last pleasure: Helping him smoke a cig (cancer stick) one last time. My own dear mother’s death in hospice at my sister’s home in Boulder, the very moment of passing accomplished with a laugh at her expense from me and my brothers and sisters who were in a prayer circle with her pastor. Surreal? Poignant and horrible and funny and beautiful. Human.
Thanks Marion Fayolle and NYRB for a thing of beauty.
September 29, 2019
The comic book equivalent of performance art. The author has some insight into the struggle for family and caregivers coping with a family member suffering from a terminal illness, but the symbolism and abstraction cause a weird remove that keep me from taking this material into my heart.
November 7, 2019
“We buried one of dad's lungs.” But the act is depicted as a group of white-clad figures hauling a boulder the size of a kitchen table. The Tenderness of Stones is about the terminal illness of Fayolle’s father, but rendered in surreal and poetic imagery.
That's pretty much all there is to it, but there's a wealth of beauty in this simple concept. It probably provided the artist a certain amount of necessary distance, helping her deal with what must have been a painful experience.
In some ways, this also adds a bit of a puzzle aspect to the story. I found I was congratulating myself on spotting metaphors. “Oh! The people in white are doctors and nurses.” “Look! It's a literal family tree.”
The art is lovely, looking like a cross between Edward Gorey and Marc Chagall. It's an excellent book, well worth your time. Recommended!
That's pretty much all there is to it, but there's a wealth of beauty in this simple concept. It probably provided the artist a certain amount of necessary distance, helping her deal with what must have been a painful experience.
In some ways, this also adds a bit of a puzzle aspect to the story. I found I was congratulating myself on spotting metaphors. “Oh! The people in white are doctors and nurses.” “Look! It's a literal family tree.”
The art is lovely, looking like a cross between Edward Gorey and Marc Chagall. It's an excellent book, well worth your time. Recommended!
February 2, 2020
An incisive examination of the complex relationship with a father who's dying. Marion Fayolle's The Tenderness of Stones beautifully and painstakingly explores the various interlocking stages of having a loved one with terminal illness. Grief is a complex beast made even more intricately nuanced by the fact that before the illness, for a whole lifetime, the relationship between father and daughter was problematic. Described as an absent and distant father who rarely used his words and who was perhaps an alcoholic, the terminally ill man who is slowly being resected and rearranged by the medical machine becomes the dependent child who needs constant care and attention and who shows no gratitude for the efforts of the family. The mother plays mother, now to her own husband. allowing the grown children to escape her attentions, only to return to desperately try to hang on to the dying man, still seeking his approval and his love, still getting hurt by the lack of it. Some of the metaphorical descriptions work really well for the story and are rendered in loving, detailed, crosshatched attention and expertise.
Highly recommended for everyone who has loved (or unloved) ones, because we will one day all be either taking care of them or being taking care of by them. Also recommended for those who like cats, plants and family trees.
Highly recommended for everyone who has loved (or unloved) ones, because we will one day all be either taking care of them or being taking care of by them. Also recommended for those who like cats, plants and family trees.
August 18, 2019
Full review here
The Tenderness of Stones is a beautiful and emotive graphic novel about the way we cope (or not) with death. The nameless narrator is in constant denial that her father is dying as she’s convinced this is one of his many jokes. If her dad behaves like a kid that needs 24-hour care, it’s not because of a cruel dementia, according to her, but because his father is jealous and wants to be treated by his wife the same way she treats her children.
The narrator’s immaturity relates to the inability of the human race to fully grasp the idea that every day brings us closer to death. Humanity has always tried to understand this through art and science, but this peculiar and highly inventive graphic novel wouldn’t work as a philosophy book or, worse, a self-help manual as none of its characters learns anything towards the end. They face reality towards the end because reality is relentless and gives them no other choice.
The Tenderness of Stones is a beautiful and emotive graphic novel about the way we cope (or not) with death. The nameless narrator is in constant denial that her father is dying as she’s convinced this is one of his many jokes. If her dad behaves like a kid that needs 24-hour care, it’s not because of a cruel dementia, according to her, but because his father is jealous and wants to be treated by his wife the same way she treats her children.
The narrator’s immaturity relates to the inability of the human race to fully grasp the idea that every day brings us closer to death. Humanity has always tried to understand this through art and science, but this peculiar and highly inventive graphic novel wouldn’t work as a philosophy book or, worse, a self-help manual as none of its characters learns anything towards the end. They face reality towards the end because reality is relentless and gives them no other choice.
September 25, 2019
"We buried one of my dad's lungs," begins this story of cancer, caregiving, and the strangeness of illness. "... Soon, other bits of his body might be removed, until we had buried it all."
You know that story that used to circle around the internet about all kinds of devastating effects caused by a dangerous chemical compound that turns out to be water? This story is the cancer equivalent.
The narrator's father is sick. His body is losing some parts while the doctor's move others around. He's somehow a child without having shrank at all. And he's borrowing appendages from his family to replace his own. Vivid imagery and symbolism abound in this tale that reads absurd until it doesn't.
You know that story that used to circle around the internet about all kinds of devastating effects caused by a dangerous chemical compound that turns out to be water? This story is the cancer equivalent.
The narrator's father is sick. His body is losing some parts while the doctor's move others around. He's somehow a child without having shrank at all. And he's borrowing appendages from his family to replace his own. Vivid imagery and symbolism abound in this tale that reads absurd until it doesn't.
September 24, 2019
A beautiful and completely original take on illness and loss.
February 13, 2023
Como una daga persa en el pecho. Entra suave y fría y es precioso. Así me he quedado.
January 12, 2022
Incredibly touching and beautiful.
February 5, 2023
el cinco lobitos de los cómics
June 28, 2023
Es muy bella la forma en la que describe la enfermedad. Me ha parecido valiente y extraño. Acercarse a la enfermedad buscando su belleza, es una belleza muy cruel, pero también sentí que con la imaginación y el modo de ver puedes aproximarte a dolores que de otra forma quizá son destrozadores. Los dibujos son poesía visual. El texto es más torpe frente a esa virtuosidad de las imágenes. Pero me gustó ese texto también, me resultó humanohumano, me recordó a mí cuando escribo para tratar de entender las cosas malas que pasan. Me ha parecido una novela gráfica muy buena para reflexionar sobre el cáncer, los cuidados y la familia y la pérdida.
September 15, 2022
Aunque algunas de las metáforas que la autora utiliza para referirse a la enfermedad pueden parecer superficiales, hay que reconocer que lo borda cuando utiliza imágenes, símbolos y palabras para expresar la relación entre ella y su padre o las relaciones en el sí de la familia. Todo un ejercicio de honestidad sin paños calientes ni derivas sentimentales.
November 1, 2019
A surreal fable about a dying father. Rough and inventive with illustrations that remind me of old airplane emergency comics.
February 26, 2020
As unfun as getting hit over the head with an obvious analogy is, this was a really interesting exploration of losing a loved one to illness.
August 31, 2020
this was such a tender tale of illness, grief, identity, and family. surprisingly sweet.
December 27, 2018
Entiendo la lógica que guía esta historia, el narrar la autora la enfermedad terminal de su padre a través de medios simbólicos y una pizca surrealistas. De lo que no estoy segura es de que el resultado sea exitoso. Los símbolos aquí están demasiado próximos a la realidad, en un punto intermedio entre esta y un auténtico simbolismo que habría comunicado mejor todas la implicaciones de la enfermedad, la pérdida y la difícil relación con un padre frío y egoísta. El final, además, es un poco brusco.
Lo que sí me ha gustado son los dibujos de Marion Fayolle. He visto que tiene otra obra, Les Coquins, que parece más apetecible.
Lo que sí me ha gustado son los dibujos de Marion Fayolle. He visto que tiene otra obra, Les Coquins, que parece más apetecible.
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March 6, 2022I was surprised how much this didn't work for me.
December 16, 2024
Oof, metaphors abound! Love the illustrations
August 31, 2025
A beautiful, surreal story about grief: fictionalized until fiction doesn’t cover all the emotions present anymore.
May 31, 2021
A lovely and impactful performance piece of a graphic novel that takes you into the author's grief and struggles with the caretaking of and deterioration of her father. Unique and worthwhile.
March 14, 2020
A semi-surrealist study of the grief over a father's illness. Many of the surreal situations Marion Fayolle conveys here will resonate with folks who've dealt with the prolonged illness of a loved one. Especially the ways that the progressing stages of illness can cause surprise, frustration, anxiety, and annoyance in those going through it with them. How are we supposed to feel when one of our parents seems to turn into a child, or loose their facilities? How do we deal with the distance in realizing that we may have never really known someone we should have been intimately close to? Fayolle's clean art makes me feel this is like a kids' book for grieving grownups, though a lack of details left me wondering often what or who was being depicted. The confusion before the heartbreak.
July 25, 2016
La propuesta de Marion Fayolle me parece destacable entre muchas otras. Consigue crear imágenes muy potentes e interesantes sin ser ninguna virtuosa del dibujo. Tampoco el texto de este libro le hace ningún favor; en ocasiones peca de cierto infantilismo que no llega a enternecer al lector adulto. Sin embargo, hay algo en su forma de componer la historia de equilibrar las páginas que consigue hacerlo funcionar de forma muy bella. Tiene ideas muy buenas que funcionan muy bien gráficamente y oh! Sorpresa! Es original!
October 16, 2020
I jotted this down after my first session of reading the book, thinking it would be the beginning of my review:
Yet I was surprised to find that this graphic novel about dealing with a dying father did actually grow on me as I made my way through it. What grabbed me wasn’t the surreal presentation, which led to some interesting visuals but didn’t do much to enliven the narrative. Rather, I was impressed by the depiction of that blend of numbness, awkwardness, and impatience so often present when you are waiting for someone to die, and which is so different from the actual mourning that takes place after the fact.
The pacing here was good, and for the time it took me to read there was a decent emotional takeaway. The art and writing weren’t all that memorable, but they were reliably competent. Probably not worth going to much effort to track down, but worth a read if you happen to come across it.
I related to this. I think I got it. But I didn’t enjoy it.
I think I had the right experiences to be able to connect with this, but maybe I didn’t have the right feelings about them, or maybe my aesthetic sensibilities are just too far off.
Yet I was surprised to find that this graphic novel about dealing with a dying father did actually grow on me as I made my way through it. What grabbed me wasn’t the surreal presentation, which led to some interesting visuals but didn’t do much to enliven the narrative. Rather, I was impressed by the depiction of that blend of numbness, awkwardness, and impatience so often present when you are waiting for someone to die, and which is so different from the actual mourning that takes place after the fact.
The pacing here was good, and for the time it took me to read there was a decent emotional takeaway. The art and writing weren’t all that memorable, but they were reliably competent. Probably not worth going to much effort to track down, but worth a read if you happen to come across it.
August 9, 2020
This is a brutal graphic novel memoir that hits close to home for me: my parents are disabled and my parents-in-law both recently passed away. Having to translate for someone reminds me of what I go through with my dad, who is hearing impaired, and also having to wait on someone helpless, like my physically disabled mom, which somehow turns them into a cruel tyrant... It must be a defense mechanism for people who lose most of their independence... And the suffering and waiting for death... Sitting in hospice with my mother-in-law, wishing it would just be over already... The dragging around of oxygen that my father-in-law was chained to... The public way life feels as the medical personnel descend, the imposition of extended family that wants to grieve too... So personal, and so true. I don't think I was quite ready to read this, and therefore my rating may be inaccurate. Sidenote: I wish I could read it in its original French.
August 2, 2025
De manera muy original, también muy impactante, Marion Fayolle recoge en esta obra los tremendos procesos de enfermedad terminal de su padre, los cuidados que requiere, tanto profesionales como familiares, hasta concluir en la muerte. La originalidad viene de la exposición, entre fantasiosa y absurda, entre lúdica y poética, en la que además aprovecha para ajustar cuentas con la figura paterna a la que, al modo kafkiano, le reprocha la soberbia, el despego, la displicencia o el despotismo con la familia, sus malos hábitos... Un repaso en toda regla al que no le falta sin embargo el amor de la hija, hasta el final, intentando que la roca deshaga su aspereza y al menos, al menos al final de la existencia, muestre, si la tiene, algo de la ternura que llevaba dentro.
· La expresión gráfica resulta entrañable. Es muy interesante observar el juego de metáforas e, incluso, el tono humorístico que emplea en los dibujos para reflejar unos hechos terribles. Un acierto.
· La expresión gráfica resulta entrañable. Es muy interesante observar el juego de metáforas e, incluso, el tono humorístico que emplea en los dibujos para reflejar unos hechos terribles. Un acierto.
January 25, 2022
I will admit it took a while to understand the disconnect from the words to the text (me for the first 10 pages: "the doctors are men in white, the family are in black! Why are there women in white everywhere?!"), but once I did it was very poignant.
Each section is a different visual metaphor for her father's decline, a giant of a man made smaller and smaller by various forces. I could feel Foyle's world falling apart as her father did, and her struggles to mourn the man her father was (which is to say a difficult man). Watching someone you love deteriorate is never easy, no matter how old you are or even, really, your past encounters. You are always just a helpless bystander, watching as they lose themselves.
Really strong an emotional, but the last section (where Fayolle writes about writing the book and her father's cancer coming back) took me out of it.
Each section is a different visual metaphor for her father's decline, a giant of a man made smaller and smaller by various forces. I could feel Foyle's world falling apart as her father did, and her struggles to mourn the man her father was (which is to say a difficult man). Watching someone you love deteriorate is never easy, no matter how old you are or even, really, your past encounters. You are always just a helpless bystander, watching as they lose themselves.
Really strong an emotional, but the last section (where Fayolle writes about writing the book and her father's cancer coming back) took me out of it.
September 19, 2025
Un cómic superoriginal acerca de un enfermo oncológico y lo que eso supone para el resto de la familia. Es una dura metáfora de lo que conlleva un familiar con esta enfermedad, que también podría ser otra cualquiera degenerativa o de pérdida de memoria, el destrozo es similar.
Comienzan enterrando el pulmón del padre, el que tiene cáncer, a continuación vienen las primeras complicaciones, la falta de comunicación con el paciente por la gravedad del asunto o por las sucesivas intervenciones que requerirá o por los ingresos hospitalarios, la llegada a casa del equipo de paliativos que invade tu espacio vital para curarle o aliviarle pero que hace que tú seas un extraño en tu propia casa. La alienación de pensamientos, de costumbres, que hará que todo cambie y sea más difícil hacer lo que antes no lo era. Todo es sustituido por piedras.
Se me han escapado unas lagrimitas. Todos tenemos algún familiar o conocido en estas lides. Original. Mucho. Leedlo.
Comienzan enterrando el pulmón del padre, el que tiene cáncer, a continuación vienen las primeras complicaciones, la falta de comunicación con el paciente por la gravedad del asunto o por las sucesivas intervenciones que requerirá o por los ingresos hospitalarios, la llegada a casa del equipo de paliativos que invade tu espacio vital para curarle o aliviarle pero que hace que tú seas un extraño en tu propia casa. La alienación de pensamientos, de costumbres, que hará que todo cambie y sea más difícil hacer lo que antes no lo era. Todo es sustituido por piedras.
Se me han escapado unas lagrimitas. Todos tenemos algún familiar o conocido en estas lides. Original. Mucho. Leedlo.
June 12, 2024
As I reflect on my aging parents, one of my anxieties is ‘how will it all go down? What does it look like to lose a parent and what is my role?’ My grandparents died while I was fairly young and I didn’t know to watch my parents.
This book was so beautiful and chiseled a small piece of clarity for me.
Art like this is so powerful. Thank god there are people who know the rituals and rites that can conjure feeling from letters on a page.
I would love to read more from this artist/author but their work is mostly in French!!! HOW EXQUISITE and hurtful IS THAT? FUCK ARTISTS I FUCKING LOVE THEM!
This book was so beautiful and chiseled a small piece of clarity for me.
Art like this is so powerful. Thank god there are people who know the rituals and rites that can conjure feeling from letters on a page.
I would love to read more from this artist/author but their work is mostly in French!!! HOW EXQUISITE and hurtful IS THAT? FUCK ARTISTS I FUCKING LOVE THEM!
May 22, 2025
Una maravillosa obra autobiográfica en la que la autora narra la enfermedad terminal de su padre, y el impacto que tiene su gradual deterioro físico en el resto de la familia, así como en la propia obra que la autora está escribiendo.
Resulta profunda y compleja, sin sentimentalismos, y cuyas únicas concesiones son algunas pequeñas perlas de un humor un tanto negro.
El inconfundible estilo de la autora a la hora de narrar y, sobre todo, ilustrar su historia está impregnado de un surrealismo lírico que consigue elevar la obra a niveles magistrales.
Es una obra emotiva, tierna e hiriente. Tanto como puede serlo una piedra.
Resulta profunda y compleja, sin sentimentalismos, y cuyas únicas concesiones son algunas pequeñas perlas de un humor un tanto negro.
El inconfundible estilo de la autora a la hora de narrar y, sobre todo, ilustrar su historia está impregnado de un surrealismo lírico que consigue elevar la obra a niveles magistrales.
Es una obra emotiva, tierna e hiriente. Tanto como puede serlo una piedra.
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