His characterizations never move beyond one-dimensionality (Dad and Brother are bad, Mom the absolute nadir), and the book reads like a futile attempt to get back at those adults who damaged him as a child. This is the stuff of both drama and prolonged introspection, but Small refuses to engage thoughtfully with his troubled past. If I have nothing but compliments for the art in Stitches, then what’s my objection to the book? Stitches is a brutal memoir about Small’s childhood in an abusive family, whose members included his father, an emotionally distant doctor who treated David’s sinus troubles with carcinogenic X-rays his brother, a bully who forced sensitive David to look at their father’s X-rated medical books and his mother, a brittle, closeted lesbian prone to silent rages and devoid of any love for her sons. Small’s black-and-white ink washes are fluid and atmospheric, but I prefer his vibrant color work a bit more. Small brings this same high level of craft to the pictures in Stitches, though I wish that publisher W.W. Small can draw, as any sample of the Presidential caricatures in So You Want makes clear.
George), a charming collection of stories about POTUSes past and present. I came to Stitches familiar with Small’s art from a handful of terrific children’s books, including The Gardener (1997, written by Sarah Stewart, Small’s wife), a Depression-era tale of a farm girl who brings a rooftop garden and joy into the lives of her urban relatives, and So You Want to Be President (2000, authored by Judith St. I’ll further deviate from my HU Hate-Fest Assignment by talking about a comic that on an aesthetic level is actually quite accomplished, David Small’s Stitches (2009).
If the following essay seems low on anger, chalk it up to my beta-male, passive-aggressive personality.
By confirming my speculations about the decline of the medium, bad comics put me into a sullen funk instead of a rage. I’ve read many comics that I dislike because I found them stupid or offensive, but rarely do my feelings escalate to the point of active hatred. While I’m happy to participate in HU’s fifth anniversary celebration, I should make it clear that I’m a poor hater.
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