Case in point : you’ve actually gotta dig deep for corollaries to human beings in this work, as it reallyis about what it purports to be right on the surface, namely the existential impoverishment suffered by domesticated animals. It’s only at all applicable to us if one accepts the aforementioned Mr. Zerzan’s axiom that “by domesticating plants and animals, man necessarily domesticated himself.” Absolutist as that statement no doubt is, as a matter of pure logic there’s no effective counter to it as far as I can tell, so I suppose it’s a truism almost by default, but really — people aren’t Finch’s primary, secondary, or even tertiary concern here. Rather, what he’s crafted — with an amount of care so great it borders on the meticulous — is a narratively and visually lyrical paean to the ultimately unsolvable mystery that is life itself.
He doesn’t “merely settle” for that, though — no, Finch creates a multitude of worlds, of myths, of cosmologies, each in service of an overarching set of thematic concerns, yet also functioning as a discrete entity unto itself. There are no “vignettes” to be had here in the strictest sense of the term, no narrative “asides,” but there are likewise no two intersecting threads that are alike. This is many stories and one story, a “sum of its parts” affair and an entirely cohesive, holistic, “big picture” treatise. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen, but everything you’ve always hoped to.
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