The fact that her divorced parents are on good terms, a fact she casually drops in, resonated with me, especially when her father comes to join them for a brief visit during their six-week trip. She likes books, sewing, bicycles, food you can eat with a spoon, manatees, nice pens, costumes, baking and Oscar Wilde. I'd recommend this book for anyone who's interested in Paris (and food and drinks and clothes and books). Readers of French Milk, unfortunately, would be hard-pressed to be able to imagine themselves in Paris unless they had other images of the city in their heads already. The food was probably the most interesting part, mostly because it was all kinds of disgusting (nothing but foie gras and oyster).

We don’t share your credit card details with third-party sellers, and we don’t sell your information to others. If you enjoy travel memoirs mixed with food, may I recommend to you A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from My Kitchen Table by Molly Wizenberg? They spent five weeks living in a tiny Parisian apartment, going to see museums, and eating mounds and mounds of French food. This would never happen in my divorced family, and it made me, briefly, jealous--again, this goes back to Walls's maxim; my life circumstances may not be the same as Knisley's, but hers caused me to reflect on my own.I am a yogurt snob and still looking for the perfect smooth, creamy, tangy equivalent to my favorite “European style” kind in the States, but your explanations may guide me on my quest! I would have liked some actual exploration of their relationship (apparently the book's title is a reference to mother's milk, another empty affirmation), as well as some examination of her obvious privileges beyond blaming "feeling" like a spoiled brat on being an only child. While I understand that this is a tumultuous time period in people’s lives (being that I am only in my late twenties), it is often hard to feel sympathy for Knisley because she just doesn’t seem to realise just how many great things are happening in her life.

She then goes from complaining about being "too poor" to afford a Vespa to showing off her Christmas presents, including a new DSLR camera - a " little present" (emphasis mine) because of the holiday. That seems like a low blow to take, but complaining about having no money when you are taking a two-month trip to Paris and eating what look like decadent meals and cookies all the time seems kind of silly, as does complaining about the state of modern art.Par contre, c'est toujours amusant de voir la réaction des Américains face à certaines différences culturelles, notamment - mais pas que - dans l'alimentation. Treating youth as a get-out-of-jail-free card with regards to published works is something that irritates me anyway - if a book is published, it should be held to the same standards regardless of the author's age. I really liked the travelogue elements of this graphic novel, where the author visits art galleries and fairs.

They rented an apartment and spent five weeks walking around, seeing the sites, eating lots of food, in the city of lights.I think I heard a couple of friends recommend this book/comic artist to me, one in particular when I was expounding on my recent Lynda Barry obsession, but to be perfectly honest I didn't really care for it that much. The French are big into shelf stable milk so you’ll find milk in the supermarket in two places: in a refrigerated case with the butter, cheese, and yogurt and all manner of other dairy products, and on the shelf, often near the water.

She also exhibits a particular pride and faith in her work (with the occasional doubts), one that I still struggle with in my early thirties. Whether she is troubled by boys, hair-issues, new food or simply getting older, she remains charming, smart and funny. There was very little exploration of the difference between the real Paris and the idealised, Americanised version - except, that is, where it could be complained about. I tried to refrain myself from reading the book in one sitting, as I knew that I would want more and more of it.And she never tells the reader what a cornichon is, nor can you tell from her sparse drawings, though her drawing of a woman's large buttocks on the final pages is not sparse - it's just plain mean. If you are interested in memoirs, read Relish instead as it shows much more thoughtful and mature reflections on her life. Surprise: ici, les dessins sont en noir et blanc, beaucoup plus agréables à l'oeil (de mon point de vue).