One Hundred Demons

Post-Christmas, I read Lynda Barry's One Hundred Demons on the advice of my mother, who had received it for Christmas and read it in approximately 1.5 sittings.

It's amazing. It really is. Barry calls it "autobiofictionalography," and as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter what it is because it just got me somewhere in my stomach. The bright colors and drawings temper the emotional impact enough that the reader is kept from completely reeling, or crying, or both, and the package as a whole is attractive and precise.

Barry's observations about childhood, and adolescence in particular, are completely astute and revelatory, even though the topics are universal. Salon.com appears to have several of the "demons" online (the book is a collection of vignettes that Barry has called "demons"), and this is one of my favorites.