Relish is a foodie memoir for the non-specialist: a gourmet's gift to the ordinary gourmands among us, told with love and verve from a unabashedly personal, often child's-eye perspective. It's about growing up around good food, great cooks, and passionate eaters. Alternately charming and frustrating, the book wobbles from guileless self-absorption to attempted deep insights, aided considerably by Knisley's crisp, delightful cartooning and gorgeous color palette. I kept wanting to dislike it, and finding myself charmed; also wanting to like it, and finding myself put off.
Those of us (I include myself) accustomed to tell-all graphic memoirs will probably be frustrated by Knisley's skirting, or rather her only glancing acknowledgment, of real emotional complexity. The book hints at various displacements, separations, tensions, but its approach is palliative, always celebrating shared cooking and eating as balms to the soul. Essentially, the book is a loving paean to her mother and her mother's cooking, but dotted with other, sometimes spot-on, sometimes undeveloped, anecdotes. Its sense of structure is local, that is, most notable on the chapter level; as a whole, the book ambles on vaguely if agreeably, not quite finding a center other than the simple idea of loving food and those who make it.
At its worst, this determinedly light touch seems to lure Knisley into a blithe sort of narcissistic entitlement, as when her anecdotes about traveling and eating in Mexico and Japan turn into foodie travelogues about Knisley and her fellow expats and what they ate, just about excluding any specific depiction of the Mexican and Japanese subjects they encountered along the way. I found this, to put it mildly, bothersome. Consistent with this (dare I say?) shallow approach is the way Knisley narrates, i.e. summarizes, certain hard-won insights, instead of dramatizing how she came to win them. That gives the insights a potted, received, familiar quality rather than the force of genuine discovery.
The thing is, Relish truly is a loving book, and I can imagine readers getting quite a bit out of it. I do love Knisley's way with the page, with drawing and with color. She can cartoon and design pages up a storm, and there are moments, humorous and neatly visual, of such delectable payoff that I hate to complain. I won't be getting rid of Relish anytime soon, even though I think it doesn't really work as a book.
So. I will look out for further work by Knisley, even though, I have to say, the naivete evoked in this book made me quite impatient with her as a writer. Relish hangs in my mind as a tasty series of anecdotes that strains after book-worthiness but doesn't quite get there.