Bechdel also uses dictionary definitions as an ongoing motif, a cliche that ALWAYS annoys me (''orgasm: or-gaz-um-' 'what is an orgasm? what does it mean in the context of my own life? Let's examine this word and blah blah blah blah' <-bitchy paraphrasing). Comparing the map in The Wind in the Willows to a map of her local terrain is one thing: comparing her first act of performing cunnilingus to entering Homer's cave of Polyphemus made me groan out loud. Bechdel continuously draws parallels to anything and everything literary. The constant literary references (Joyce, Camus, Proust, Wilde, etc) do not impress me and they do not enrich the story she is telling. She doesn't make me care about her, and I care only a little bit about her dad, whom the book focuses on. The key to this is good writing, and although Bechdel's writing is ORNAMENTAL, it's not engaging. This is how I feel: any person, no matter how mediocre his/her life might be perceived, can be made into a great story. However, this is not a review of The Song of Solomon, so I suppose I will set aside that grudge for now. To put it in less crude terms, both books overflow with self-conscious references to classic literature (both use The Odyssey in a major way). Reading Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic put me in the same irritated and impatient mood experienced when reading Toni Morrison's The Song of Solomon in high school: both books feel like major wank-offs to the writers' cumulative reading endeavors.

Fun home by alison bechdel