I try to find something nice to say about everything I read. Sometimes I cannot. In this case, with
Curses by George WylesolI, I cannot even say I appreciate the hard work and effort that went into it. As, in my opinion, it had no effort. Just lines and colors tossed onto a page to see what the creator could get away with; how far they could go and still call it “art.” Side views of women’s breasts, red and dangerously sore looking, with the nip as a light switch flicker. The Male Venus statue with one missing arm, a disproportionate member, and the other arm wiggling away. Giant yellow circles. Lines to nowhere. These and other similar imagery vomit onto the pages.
I did not see curses, I didn’t understand the sections that seemed to be created as stuff changed a bit, or there was something that clued my brain into thinking we’ve moved onto the next piece. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea to read in the first place. I just remember putting in an interlibrary loan request for it. Perversion was the name of the game and it wasn’t even the fun kind.
Things started off well (a story about a man who sees literal or figurative ghosts at his dead end job at the hospital), but after that things were grotesque; too extreme and lacking any depth. There was a second story that could have worked out if it hadn’t decided to go off on some nightmare tangent with the illustrations that had a candelabra-tree-menorah thing with half a dozen melting heads on it, a flasher and a murderous, jealous classmate of the supposed main character.
If you enjoyed it, FANTASTIC! I am very glad Wylesol found an appreciative audience. I am just not that audience.