On Loving Women
On Loving Women
Drawn & Quarterly, Paperback, 9781770461406, 88pp.
Publication Date: February 18, 2014
""On Loving Women" is in turns wistful, sexy, goofy, bittersweet, frank, and adorable. Diane Obomsawin's deceptively simple lifework and straightforward writing style capture the breathless sweetness of holding another girl's hand for the first time, and the happy, lusty intimacy of a virginity-ending, drunken threesome. Delightful." Ellen Forney, author of "Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo, and Me"
Intimate vignettes of women coming out
"On Loving Women "is a new collection of stories about coming out, first love, and sexual identity by the animator Diane Obomsawin. With this work, Obomsawin brings her gaze to bear on subjects closer to home her friends' and lovers' personal accounts of realizing they're gay or first finding love with another woman. Each story is a master class in reaching the emotional truth of a situation with the simplest means possible. Her stripped-down pages use the bare minimum of linework to expressively reveal heartbreak, joy, irritation, and fear.
"On Loving Women" focuses primarily on adolescence crushes on high school teachers, awkwardness on first dates but also addresses much deeper-seated difficulties of being out: fears of rejection and of not being who others want one to be. Within these pages, Obomsawin has forged a poignant, powerful narrative that speaks to the difficulties of coming out and the joys of being loved.
Her first English-language work, "Kaspar" a retelling of the life of Kaspar Hauser, the mysterious German youth who was raised in isolation and murdered just a few years after emerging from his imprisonment was critically lauded for its simple but expressive storytelling, and for the way it portrayed traumatic material compassionately but without self-indulgenc.
Praise for Kaspar
“Obomsawin adapts with spartan elegance . . . [Kaspar is] a paradoxically winsome take on a perennially intriguing true story.” —Booklist
“Diane Obomsawin’s Kaspar is . . . as spare and mysterious as its subject . . . As brief as it is, it’s also quietly affecting right up to its abrupt, tragic ending.” —The Boston Globe