A most hilarious book, which pretends to be a biological field guide to the mermaid fauna of Estonia, though the factuality is broken up by add-ins of subjective reflections, narrations of encounters with mermaids and expressions of hopes on the future progresses of mermaidology.
Interestingly Estonian mermaids don't have fishtails, but legs. (Fishtailed mermaids occasionally may appear in Estonia, but they are usually visitors from Scandinavia or Germany.) Estonian mermaids can be classified into the groups of beautfully-haired ones, loud-throated ones, bare-tittied ones etc., with subclasses like the "minilesbian sniveller", the "green-haired coquette" or the "plump tomboyish" mermaid. Beyond the mere jocular of these ideas, there's satire in the tone, which always pretends to hold a positivistic attitude towards the researched objects, but which cannot hide the underlying drives of libido.
The code switching between pseudo-scientific, folkloristic, anecodic, historic modes of telling is quite funny, but if the book came without its illustrations, I wouldn't assign more than three stars to it. The real fun comes in with Kat Menschik's pictures, which are also not very noteworthy by themselves - woodcut-like black-and-white drawings with a sketchy, a bit carelessly drawn outlook. What makes the combination really outstanding is the fact that the pictures are actually *not* illustrations. In 80% of cases the reader needs to stop and think about the relation of the picture and the surrounding text, because there's no 1-on-1 correspondence. The second aspect that makes them so funny is the triviality of many of the pictures. Many pictures are of every-day items that every body knows very well about. The text mentions that a mermaid researcher should always bring a notebook to the field - and the illustrations show a typewriter and a pencil, with a caption of "diverse writing utensils". Blimey, so that's the way a pencil looks like? One page has four little pictures, in this sequence: an "aging mollusk", a "handbag suitable for going out", a "piece of strawberry cake" and a "terrarium with several strata of rock bed". On pages like these the book fulfills Lautréamont's famous wish of a chance meeting of sewing machine and umbrella on a dissecting table. At another point you open an inlay page with colour illustrations, where the title promises to show you a mermaid of the type "child-loving sniveller", and what you get is a picture of Holy Mary with her baby.