This is the third volume of one of the most remarkable works of the contemporary comic books scene. In "Precious Things," Marco has to face up to Emilie's maternal longing and the aftermath of the death of his father. Through various little things, such as old photos and insignificant events, Larcenet pursues his inquisition of the human soul with incredible wisdom and insight.
In this seven-chapter graphic novel, Manu Larcenet doesn't hold back as he grapples with his relationship to drawing, his doubts, his limits, and others' perception of his books.
They're spots... spots that speak, think, judge, talk about everything and nothing... Depressive spots, euphoric spots, racist spots, swinger spots, spots that change their hue while remaining resolutely off-color. Manu Larcenet brings to life a large family of spots in a series of biting, caustic, hilarious strips.
An autobiographical story in which Manu Larcenet, with raw sincerity, describes a day in the army. But not just any day... Page after page, Larcenet's spare storytelling combines deep introspection with graphical and narrative audacity.
Dallas Cowboy brings the reader into the author's face-off with insomnia, that weird limbo between wakefulness and slumber when we're conscious of being unconscious. The author looks back--or rather, flashes back to childhood, fears, complexes, mistakes.. everything that makes up a life. In his first book published by Les Rêveurs, Manu Larcenet experiments with autobiography, a new genre, a graphic narrative experience which ultimately gives birth to a story that's neither harsh nor tender, just sincere.
History, if we define it as the mere transcription of the written records of former generations, can go no farther back than the time such records were first made, no farther than the art of writing. But now that we have come to recognize the great earth itself as a story-book, as a keeper of records buried one beneath the other, confused and half obliterated, yet not wholly beyond our comprehension, now the historian may fairly be allowed to speak of a far earlier day. For unmeasured and immeasurable centuries man lived on earth a creature so little removed from "the beasts that die," so little superior to them, that he has left no clearer record than they of his presence here. From the dry bones of an extinct mammoth or a plesiosaur, Cuvier reconstructed the entire animal and described its habits and its home. So, too, looking on an ancient, strange, scarce human skull, dug from the deeper strata beneath our feet, anatomists tell us that the owner was a man indeed, but one little better than an ape. A few æons later this creature leaves among his bones chipped flints that narrow to a point; and the archæologist, taking up the tale, explains that man has become tool-using, he has become intelligent beyond all the other animals of earth. Physically he is but a mite amid the beast monsters that surround him, but by value of his brain he conquers them. He has begun his career of mastery.
