It’s a mark of the brilliance of Becky Barnicoat’s Cry When the Baby Cries that it worked for me, testing my patience only occasionally: as I’ve been known to tell people, while I like children a lot, I could never eat a whole one. I have a hunch that her book’s bracingly truthful tone will indeed make new (and new-ish) mothers feel very seen, just as some of the quotes on its jacket promise: no subject is for her off limits, from leaking breasts to dubious stains. But the more important thing by far is that it’s very funny and even sardonic. At her best, Barnicoat reminds me of Claire Bretécher (1940-2020), the great French cartoonist and one of the geniuses of the form.
