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| Death, Grief, Bereavement |
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HomeShop at BookSurgeSelf-HelpDeath, Grief, BereavementAfter the Lights Went Out: Images of the Lost Midwest |
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| Customer Reviews: | | Average Customer Review: ( 3 customer reviews )
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
6 of 6 found the following review helpful:
 Stunning Dec 24, 2005
By Weasel
Unquestionably the finest book I have ever read, on any subject. Milton's "Paradise Lost", Joyce's "Ulysses", Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past" -- amateurs. In photography, the composition and layout is so raw, honest and compelling that surely Talbot, Herschel and Daguerre must smile and say "this is why we invented photography."
"After the lights went out" is a bold masterpiece of visual storytelling that will be remembered in the coming decades as the first and truest work of photography to come from the new century. Nungesser and Pigtain's work eclipses all before it. You owe it to yourself and to future generations to acquire this work in its original form, which will unquestionably be of immense value to future scholars of the art form of photography. Buy it now before it's no doubt reprinted by Taschen in a giant coffee table edition.
4 of 4 found the following review helpful:
Excellent, insightful reflection of the area's essence Mar 14, 2006
By Michael Merow
The visuals in this entire work are stunning. It's hard to define outside of saying 'a new style altogether'. Perhaps it's just my view being skewed by the fact I "recognize" a lot of these buildings and lived in the area for so long. Still, some images are truly beautiful while others are downright eternally haunting (particularly 'The Refrigerator'. Who knew a fridge could look so eerie?)
1 of 12 found the following review helpful:
 The Worst Production of Any Kind in Human History Dec 23, 2005
By Peter Wells
"Peter Wells"
Evil and horror have a new home between the pages of After the Lights Went Out. Nungesser and Pigtain have set aesthetics back 50,000 years with this atrocious work, which can be compared unfavorably to the fecal cave paintings of Lascaux.
My copy arrived soaked in the vomit of the UPS delivery person. Sadly, I cleaned the more pleasing effluva from the cover to reveal the nauseating work itself. These pictures are worth a thousand upchucks. Not even the illiterate are safe from the disgust.
My flesh crawled at the mere touch of the paper. The ink smelled of the charnel house. The creak of the spine evoked the torments of the damned. No sense was spared. This is the worst book I ever tasted.
Every image undoes artwork of the past. After reading After the Lights Went Out, I be came incapable of recalling any beautiful pictures or photographs. I forgot what a sunset looked like. It was a negative beauty that actually absorbed pleasant thoughts from me, leaving no vacancy, only an infinitely dimished capacty for joy.
You might argue there's something to artwork this powerful, that anything this horrible must have merit. No. Through some titanic alchemy, this book leaves no absolute value behind. Even destroying a copy brings no pleasure.
Perhaps it's just me? As an experioment, I held (by tongs) my copy of Nungesser's and Pigtain's book in full view of a group of children playing nearby. Three died instantly, two are in hospital and one is running for Congress.
What God would permit this book to exist? I've lost my faith, my ability to smile and my hair. Shakespeare, in his grave, regrets having contributed to the language that produced After the Lights Went Out. The great world leaders of the past, in their high heaven, bemoan their victories, that it led to this book. Had only Wellington lost to Napoleon! Had only Hitler held Europe! Had only Washington sank into the Trenton!
I only hope that if there is intelligent life in the universe besides the terrestrial, they never find us, lest they stumble upon a copy of After the Lights Went Out that I failed to destroy in my personal crusade to eradicate it--a crusade to which I hereby dedicate my life and the lives of any offspring I may engender.
The very worst production of any kind in human history.
--Peter Wells
Dec. 23, 2006
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