Reading Noelle Stevenson’s ๐ป๐๐ ๐ญ๐๐๐ ๐ต๐๐๐๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐ was a cathartic affair. I picked it up during a particularly demanding week, emotionally speaking, in my life, and found a lot of the emotions I was experiencing at the time (good, bad, unseemly) echoed in this book. It helped give many of these messy feeling some semblance of shape and form, which in turn made me feel less like a vulnerable blob just floating in the void.โ
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It was also a slightly surreal experience in the sense that this book is essentially a candid glance behind the curtains of a career and life of someone whose work has provided you with a great deal of amusement and delight over many years and, despite knowing that compassionate and lively art can come from grief and hardship, seeing it depicted in such a frank and vulnerable manner can still be somewhat of a shock to the system. The raw, intimate vignettes collected in this volume are as surprising and startling as they are engaging and illuminating.โ
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๐ป๐๐ ๐ญ๐๐๐ ๐ต๐๐๐๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐ is a portrait, and a work in progress at that, in the truest sense of the term. It’s honestly been a privilege to watch Stevenson’s work grow all these years, and hope I get to see it evolve even further.โ
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๐๐ฟ๐ถ๐ด๐ด๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ป๐ถ๐ป๐ด๐: ๐๐ฒ๐น๐ณ-๐ต๐ฎ๐ฟ๐บ, ๐ฏ๐ผ๐ฑ๐ ๐ถ๐บ๐ฎ๐ด๐ฒ ๐ถ๐๐๐๐ฒ๐, ๐บ๐ฒ๐ป๐๐ฎ๐น ๐ต๐ฒ๐ฎ๐น๐๐ต ๐ฑ๐ถ๐๐ฐ๐๐๐๐ถ๐ผ๐ป๐, ๐ต๐ผ๐บ๐ผ๐ฝ๐ต๐ผ๐ฏ๐ถ๐ฎ, ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐น๐ถ๐ด๐ถ๐ผ๐๐ ๐ฐ๐ผ๐ป๐๐ฒ๐ป๐, ๐บ๐ฎ๐๐ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ผ๐๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐บ๐ฒ๐ป๐๐ถ๐ผ๐ป
