Overview
One Hundred Demons collects a series of memoiristic strips that appeared in Salon’s popular "Mothers Who Think" section. Here are 20 stories told in Lynda Barry’s distinctive cartoon-narrative style that delve into the funk and sweetness of love, family, adolescence, race and the 'hood, identity — all the forces that made her the "wreck" she is today. Barry distinguishes these stories with her pitch-perfect sense of the way young people talk and think and her ability to casually render childhood’s cruelties in luminous, unsparing detail. From her nattering and intolerant/loving Filipina grandmother to the ex-boyfriend from hell who had lice, One Hundred Demons paints a memorable picture of a gifted girl whose life is intersected by a cast of crazies. Hailed for its shimmering watercolor images and called by Time magazine "a work of art as well as literature," this collection makes an important addition to the genre Barry has sardonically christened "autobiofictionalography."
Synopsis
Buddhism teaches that each person must overcome 100 demons in a lifetime. In One Hundred Demons, a collection of 20 autobiographical comic strip stories from Salon’s popular “Mothers Who Think” section, Lynda Barry wrestles with some of hers in her signature quirky, irrepressible voice. From “Dancing” and “Hate” to “Dogs” and “Magic,” the tales included here are at once hilarious and heartbreaking. As she delves into the delights and sorrows of adolescence, family, identity, and love, Barry’s ear for dialogue, dead-on delivery, and painterly style showcase her considerable genius.
Publishers Weekly
As anyone who's read her comic strip Ernie Pook's Comeek or novel Cruddy knows, Barry has a pitch-perfect sense of the way kids talk and think. Childhood's cruelties and pleasures, remembered in luminous, unsparing detail, have become the central topic of her work. The semi-autobiographical vignettes of this new work, originally serialized in Salon, follow the same basic format as the strip: blocks of enthusiastic first-person commentary at the top of each panel, squiggly, childlike-but stylized-drawings and dizzy word-balloon dialogue between the characters. Here, though, Barry gets a chance to stretch out, drawing out her memories and impressions into long, lively, sometimes sweet and sometimes painful narrative sequences on a seemingly endless list of curiously compelling topics: the scents of people's houses (one is "a combination of mint, tangerines, and library books"), dropping acid at 16 with a grocery bagger, the colors of head lice and the art of domesticating abused shelter dogs. The structure of the book is a drawing exercise that allows a hundred demons to flow out of the artist's pen onto paper. Barry's demons are the personal objects and effects that remind her of the in-between emotional states from her early life. The result is simultaneously poignant and hilarious-never one at the expense of the other-and so are her loopy, sure-lined drawings, which make both the kids and the adults look as awkward and scrunched-up as they feel. (Oct.) Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
Editorials
Publishers Weekly
As anyone who's read her comic strip Ernie Pook's Comeek or novel Cruddy knows, Barry has a pitch-perfect sense of the way kids talk and think. Childhood's cruelties and pleasures, remembered in luminous, unsparing detail, have become the central topic of her work. The semi-autobiographical vignettes of this new work, originally serialized in Salon, follow the same basic format as the strip: blocks of enthusiastic first-person commentary at the top of each panel, squiggly, childlike-but stylized-drawings and dizzy word-balloon dialogue between the characters. Here, though, Barry gets a chance to stretch out, drawing out her memories and impressions into long, lively, sometimes sweet and sometimes painful narrative sequences on a seemingly endless list of curiously compelling topics: the scents of people's houses (one is "a combination of mint, tangerines, and library books"), dropping acid at 16 with a grocery bagger, the colors of head lice and the art of domesticating abused shelter dogs. The structure of the book is a drawing exercise that allows a hundred demons to flow out of the artist's pen onto paper. Barry's demons are the personal objects and effects that remind her of the in-between emotional states from her early life. The result is simultaneously poignant and hilarious-never one at the expense of the other-and so are her loopy, sure-lined drawings, which make both the kids and the adults look as awkward and scrunched-up as they feel. (Oct.) Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.VOYA
Graphic novels are enjoying increased popularity and accessibility in public libraries, and young adults are certainly drawn to their unique and original form. Noted cartoonist and author Barry creates a remarkably colorful, dark, and personal autobiographical book of her thoughts and experiences. Graffiti-like drawings fill each page, requiring the reader to marvel closely at her work. One feels like tracing over some of her intricate patterns, faces, and flowers, Coming-of-age themes lurk behind these light images, leaving a lasting impression of Barry's outrageous view of the world. The gruesome trauma of head lice slides into common scents and emotions, then quickly moves into Barry's opinions, such as "today's demon: resilience" and "girlness" and "lost and found." Pets, teen sexuality, and grown-ups recur through individual moments of childhood, and the clash of generations is fabulously illustrated in picture and text. The last pages detail Barry's craft with photographs of the artist at work. This reviewer read and reread this awesome work, carefully deciding with whom to share it next. Adult themes, adolescent concerns, and outstanding artwork combine in a wonderful addition to the graphic novel collection in a public or high school library. Although readers will feel as if they have come to know the author through these pages, they will wish for the opportunity to meet her. Illus. VOYA Codes: 4Q 4P S A/YA G (Better than most, marred only by occasional lapses; Broad general YA appeal; Senior High, defined as grades 10 to 12; Adult and Young Adult~G). 2002, Sasquatch Books, G216p,— Nancy Zachary