Price's pet obsession throughout ''Chronicles'' is his longing for a simpler life. When somebody offers his reader sentences like, ''next summer i will come to live in the meadow below in a little tipi. Price's best writing comes when he forgets his vagabond-artist pose, and tells us how he feels about things like ducks, pocket knives and his wife's infatuation with Mikhail Baryshnikov. So is a tiny one-page story about a sick woodchuck that Price put out of its misery. He does not relegate them to a tidy, designated spot on the page, but instead, puts them literally everywhere.
Drawings interrupt sentences.
They run, unfinished, off pages. Almost all of the text in the book is handwritten. The Moonlight Chronicles with a certain cozy intimacy, but perhaps more importantly, it gives us the feeling that in this particular book, even words are just one more neat thing to draw. Except for a few nature sketches, Price's artwork is patently, gleefully unrealistic. He has a deranged, cartoonish, Shel Silverstein-esque eye for detail.