Every once in awhile you stumble across something so perfect, so relatable, that you wonder why it hasn't always been obvious in its existence. Such were my thoughts when I saw this book cover. I thought, YES! This is it! I mean, maybe not that my mother drank because we were rotten kids, because she didn't drink at all back then (even now she only has half a glass of wine with dinner), and I didn't drink because my kids were bad (I drank because I was a lesbian in a straight marriage, oh, those dark years...). But, there's some kernel of a universal truth in the beautiful and passed out mother who can't take care of herself, let alone her family. Heaped in pathos and ruin, it's what we fear is the true fate of humanity, with the mother figure here really serving as God, and the whole of the population as the neglected children, the 'bad' children that make God drink. It's soul shattering.
Then I found out the the book cover is a fake, photoshopped. Which just adds more validity and weight to my argument.