Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim
DRESS YOUR FAMILY IN CORDUROY AND DENIM (David Sedaris) - Three Stars
For the past, oh, I don't know, two or three weeks—from the week before Christmas to the present—I have been largely in a mood that could only be described as "dour." Depressed isn't quite accurate. I've just been overly sick of people (indeed, the world in general) and there was even more "Bah" in my "Humbug" than usual. I needed more wit and funny, so instead of diving into Maxine Hong Kingston's China Men I picked up David Sedaris.
The fact that I come to you today in the same dour mood as has been the norm recently only serves to prove that this book is not likely to cheer you up.
Oh, it was an enjoyable (if throwaway) read. Sedaris's writing style is light and breezy, his wit is sharp, and if he doesn't delve into any grand philosophical territory with any of anecdotes, he at least makes up for it with entertainment value. But Dress... has a consistent (and somewhat unsettling) dark streak to it: a bleakness that I don't remember seeing in his previous stories. They're funny, yes, but it's funny in that "full of knowing and slightly bitter smirks at reality" sort of way. I think only two or three of the twenty-two essays in Dress... actually made me laugh aloud. It just seems to me that in Naked his family was made to seem more silly and eccentric; in Dress... life is portrayed as more tragic. Many of the essays, from the pubescent, basement card game "Full House" to the fascinating-yet-despairing "Put a Lid on It" have very little humor and never really rise out of the darkness that permeates the book.
Again, this isn't to imply they're poorly written or somehow disappointing. I was merely surprised. There are certainly four-star passages of writing in here. But it seemed like Sedaris tried to temper the grimness of some of the essays with slightly more light-hearted ones, and most of those come across as diaphanous and forgettable. There's probably eight-ten essays that are transfixing in their unflinching look towards the dark side, two or three that are really quite funny , and maybe ten more that you won't remember at all once you've finished the book. But if you're looking for a laugh-a-minute read, this isn't it.
For the past, oh, I don't know, two or three weeks—from the week before Christmas to the present—I have been largely in a mood that could only be described as "dour." Depressed isn't quite accurate. I've just been overly sick of people (indeed, the world in general) and there was even more "Bah" in my "Humbug" than usual. I needed more wit and funny, so instead of diving into Maxine Hong Kingston's China Men I picked up David Sedaris.
The fact that I come to you today in the same dour mood as has been the norm recently only serves to prove that this book is not likely to cheer you up.
Oh, it was an enjoyable (if throwaway) read. Sedaris's writing style is light and breezy, his wit is sharp, and if he doesn't delve into any grand philosophical territory with any of anecdotes, he at least makes up for it with entertainment value. But Dress... has a consistent (and somewhat unsettling) dark streak to it: a bleakness that I don't remember seeing in his previous stories. They're funny, yes, but it's funny in that "full of knowing and slightly bitter smirks at reality" sort of way. I think only two or three of the twenty-two essays in Dress... actually made me laugh aloud. It just seems to me that in Naked his family was made to seem more silly and eccentric; in Dress... life is portrayed as more tragic. Many of the essays, from the pubescent, basement card game "Full House" to the fascinating-yet-despairing "Put a Lid on It" have very little humor and never really rise out of the darkness that permeates the book.
Again, this isn't to imply they're poorly written or somehow disappointing. I was merely surprised. There are certainly four-star passages of writing in here. But it seemed like Sedaris tried to temper the grimness of some of the essays with slightly more light-hearted ones, and most of those come across as diaphanous and forgettable. There's probably eight-ten essays that are transfixing in their unflinching look towards the dark side, two or three that are really quite funny , and maybe ten more that you won't remember at all once you've finished the book. But if you're looking for a laugh-a-minute read, this isn't it.
Usually when I was forced to compete, it was my tactic to simply give up. To try and win in any way was to announce your ambition, which only made you more vulnerable. The person who wanted to win but failed was a loser, while the person who didn't really care was just a weirdo—a title I had learned to live with.
posted by Kevin at 12:40 PM
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