After sorting through this years school exercise books, I came across what looked like hundreds of sticky notes, of highlighted notes that I had scribbled down relating to a graphic novel. When I think graphic novel I think, perhaps something less innocent. Or is that just me? But as it was a book my literature teacher lent to me earlier this year, it was anything but.
French Milk by Lucy Kinsley was the most gorgeously, charming thing that I had ever come across. In fact, I had found it amongst the collection of the seemingly decreasing bookstores, and wished and willed to get it, though I didn’t end up getting it, it was by fate that my teacher suggested it to me. ( after she had borrowed it from the library…and “accidently” never gave it back. On which she swore me to secrecy)
I was expected to do some sort of review/ feeling piece on it, which I never got around to.
In this graphic novel, Kinsley utilizes cartoon drawings; photos set out as a diary… hmm perhaps it should be named a graphic, journal novel? No? A graphic novel journal? Or a journal novel graphic? (It is clear by these ungrammatical sentences that I should be doing lit…)
The whole diary, novel thing, was filled with personal feelings, home sickness, life lessons and a descriptive recount of her shared time in France with her mother. I adored the descriptions that she added on her moods. I found the character she portrayed herself to be as someone to admire, as she was not deleting her selfishness from the pages and describing herself as the perfect human being, but showing her own flaws and leaving it raw. This is something however my teacher condemned. I didn’t have the guts to condemn her condemning, though it would have been an interesting argument.
J’adore aussi her use of le French language and attempt of using it throughout the novel. It made me laugh at my own failed attempts at doing French in LOTE at my own school. My vocab doesn’t stretch too far past…to be honest I can’t think up a French word that I know. Let’s try:
Rouge, means red.
Vert, means green.
Bleu, means blue,
WHY IS THIS SO HARD?
Ananas, means pineapple… I hope I spelt that correctly.
Okay enough embarrassing myself. My point is that overall, the reflection and recount of Kinsley’s time in France during her 21st and 22nd year, is the perfect read and relax collection of pages.