During my last semester as a Creative Writing major at Penn State
Behrend, I took an advanced nonfiction workshop. This was one of the
most unique classes I took at Behrend, not least because I was one of
only five students, two of whom received Creative Writing degrees with
me last May. Our small group learned a lot about the craft of writing
nonfiction both from critiquing one another’s work and reading
collections from established authors. One of these books was Naked,
by David Sedaris. I had never heard of him before, but he tickled my
funny bone and, at times, touched my heart. His sharp wit and keen
insight made him a favorite amongst the writers whose essays we perused.
After reading his book, I began hearing his name come up from time to
time, most often on NPR, for which he commentates regularly. Then last
week, one of my co-workers at the bookstore where I work asked if I
liked David Sedaris. I said I did, so she handed me an advance copy of
his latest book, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. I toted it home happily and read through it to find that I enjoyed it as much as Naked.
The majority of the essays in the book feature Sedaris’ family members
in various stages of life. Sedaris revisits his childhood numerous
times, showing his readers that even from an early age he felt
profoundly different from those around him with details ranging from his
discomfort at a neighbor’s sleepover to his obsession with keeping his
room immaculate. While his mother and sisters – particularly the oldest,
Lisa – come across pretty well most of the time, he tends to vilify his
father and, to a somewhat lesser extent, his brother Paul. It seems
that Paul is the son his father wishes David had been. He depicts both
men as coarse, foul-mouthed, and ultra-masculine. While they don’t
exactly shun David, it’s clear that neither has much respect for him.
That he goes through life expecting to be a failure seems largely
attributable to his father’s attitudes.
Sedaris himself
generally comes across as a likable fellow. He’s endearingly timid, a
Piglet in a world far more threatening than the Hundred Acre Wood. While
his anxiety leads him to always see the worst possibilities in each
situation, the most negative encounters he has in this book are with
members of his own family, and most of these are balanced out by more
positive experiences. Sedaris has been established as a writer for some
time, and he brings that aspect of his life into a few of these essays.
His members fear that anything they tell him could show up in print; he
feels compelled to milk their experiences for their storytelling
potential but also feels guilty for becoming so detached and willing to
expose his family’s secrets. We also learn in this volume that a movie
based on his writing is in the works, making his relatives, especially
Lisa, even more uncomfortable.
“Creative nonfiction,” the
recently coined term used to classify memoirs and other nonfiction that
is more literary than factual, has enjoyed a popularity boom in the last
few years. Many would-be writers are mining their own memories for
stories rather than building them from scratch. Such efforts are often
rewarding for both author and reader, but they do carry a risk of
offending those who appear in the essays. Sedaris seems to have come to
terms with that possibility. He is frank and does not appear to be
glossing over the grittier traits of his supporting cast of characters.
But he doesn’t let himself off the hook either, and in the end none of
the book’s inhabitants is entirely one-sided.
One odd thing
about books of essays such as this is that they tend to skip around.
They don’t follow a particular timeline, alternating between childhood,
early adulthood, and the present, sometimes in a single essay. While
most of the essays are directly connected in some way with at least one
other essay in the book, the reasoning behind the order is not always
clear. Additionally, I was a bit disappointed with the book’s ending;
the final few paragraphs of Naked, contained in the essay of the
same title, were incredibly insightful and lyrical and brought
resolution to many of the themes he developed throughout the book. The
conclusion of Dress Your Family just doesn’t pack that much of a
wallop, though it does focus largely on the feelings of anxiety and
inadequacy that plague Sedaris throughout the book. Unlike Naked,
this book’s title is not drawn from the title of one of the essays, and
I don’t recall seeing those words pop up in the body of an essay
either. My guess, though, is that it has to do with the glaring
differences between him and his brother. Although Paul actually occupies
little of the book, a much greater portion of the book has a phantom
Paul, an expectation looming over Sedaris’ head that he is unable to
fulfill. So the corduroy is David, while the denim is Paul. It seems to
be a direct plea to his father to accept them both as they are. The
degree to which that acceptance is achieved is debatable, but they
remain a family in spite of it all. Flawed? Certainly. But also
beautifully real.
I’ve heard Sedaris described as America’s
favorite humorist, and while my vote would probably go to Garrison
Keillor, I do think Sedaris is a very gifted writer who is well worth
checking out. His essays do tend to be peppered with profanity, though
rarely emanating from Sedaris himself, and some of the situations
depicted are rather crude, but for the most part they are a very good
read, entertaining and insightful. I don’t know if this latest book will
enjoy the phenomenal success that his last book, Me Talk Pretty One Day, did, but fans of his writing should not be disappointed.
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