Mendleman makes rugs by hand and sells them to support his growing family in the market in early 1900s Eastern Europe. One day, however, the person who usually buys his rugs is no longer in business. Mendleman can no longer support his family with his craft, which sends him into a deep depression.
I really enjoyed about 85% of this book. The story and art were both wonderful, and I loved the simplicity of both. But then the last 15% of this book degrades into disgusting depravity: dirty jokes, slurs against women, hallucinations of violence and rape, and alcoholic stupor. The book went nowhere at the end and left me completely unsatisfied. It made me want to throw it across the room. Maybe I just missed the point. I don’t know. But I’m glad that I only spent half an hour reading it. Ick.