Of Mice and Me, Both Skewered at the David Sedaris Reading at Mercyhurst College, 10-22-11

During my last semester of college, I was introduced to the work of David Sedaris in a Creative Non-Fiction class. While it was a writing course, we read several books in order to give us an idea of the different memoir styles out there and integrate techniques employed by the writers into our own work. Of all the writers I encountered in college for the first time, Sedaris is one of my favorites. While some of his essays get pretty off-color, there’s just something so irresistible about his pointed observations about the absurdities of how people interact with each other. Much of what he says rings very true to my ordinary experience, while some of his more outlandish stories make me wonder how he ever survived his 20s. He’s a riveting storyteller.

However, my experience of Sedaris is almost entirely limited to the page. I’m not much for audiobooks and I’ve rarely caught him on National Public Radio, where he often reads essays, but those who have listened to him more than read him have insisted that his work is far more entertaining when he reads it himself. Thus, when my brother Nathan told me that Sedaris would be giving a reading at Mercyhurst College, it didn’t take a lot of persuading to convince me to go too. Also attending were his girlfriend Morgan and my mom, whose exposure to Sedaris was very limited. I wasn’t sure what she would make of him, but while some of his discussion topics made her squirm a bit, she mostly found him very funny and astute.

We bought our tickets in late August, and by the time of the reading on October 22, the theatre, which accommodates several hundred, was sold out. It got started a bit late, allowing time for stragglers to make their way in from the lobby, and lasted just over an hour and a half, with Sedaris reading four full-length stories, followed by excerpts from his diary. He also took a little time out for questions from the audience at the end.

His first selection was The Squirrel and the Chipmunk, the story from which the cover illustration of his latest book is taken. This collection of animal fables is a departure for him, as he mostly writes of his own experiences. However, the tales here certainly have applicability to people, and that’s especially true of this story, which deals with prejudice, peer pressure and fear of the unknown getting in the way of a relationship. It’s a bittersweet story, yet it is not simply a case of a perfect relationship being ruined by disapproving relatives. It also demonstrates how much better things tend to look in hindsight, especially when they have been, to some extent, forcibly taken away.

The longest and most riotous of the stories was the second, Easy, Tiger, a New Yorker piece in which Sedaris discusses the oddities of the Pimsleur language instruction tapes that he has used to help him navigate other countries. In it, he shares several actual conversations used on these tapes, commenting on the uselessness of some of the banter and what the differences in dialogue between languages reveals about the countries in which they are spoken. For this, he played us samples of actual Pimsleur tapes and also demonstrated his skills in Japanese, Italian and German. The impact of his expressive voice, whose timbre is remarkably like that of John Fiedler, who played Piglet for about four decades in various Disney projects, is amplified by his impeccable comic timing. While this essay was mostly funny, it also posed some interesting questions about how and why we learn foreign languages and whether, as more and more people around the world learn English, Americans will cease to bother trying to bridge the communication gap themselves.

Atta Boy, which comments on today’s tendency toward over-indulgent parenting as compared with the brutal but effective tactics employed by his father and, to a lesser extent, mother, resonated strongly with many in the audience. Looking around, I could see a lot of people nodding in agreement with his disgust over the parents who threaten to sic the police on a man who lays a hand on their son to apprehend him after catching him at spray-painting a mailbox. His description of his own parents is howlingly funny, particularly his aggressive dad who hoards after-work snacks, threatens to pummel neighborhood smart-alecks and removes his pants during dinner – and, when the doorbell interrupts the meal, insists on answering the door himself. I think a lot of people felt pretty grateful for their families after hearing this essay.

The final essay focused on Sedaris’s experiences with various doctors, including one whose response to medical issues is too lackadaisical for his liking and another who subjects him to bizarre travel shows on mute while he is poking around in his mouth. This was the essay that inspired my brother, who recently graduated from college with a Fine Arts degree, to draw a mouse on a skewer for him as a gift in exchange for his autograph. It was as funny as the others, and we got to hear him speak French, but I was glad when it was over because all that medical talk was getting rather icky.

The diary entries were taken from the last two years and mostly commented on individuals who struck him as unusual or related jokes that people had told him at readings. These were invariably crude, as was a quip about a quiz show that most of the audience didn’t get, and it kind of worries me that I did. The funniest bit was probably his baffled description of the Occupy Wall Street protesters he encountered in the organic hipster wonderland of Burlington, Vermont. Most of these were very short, sometimes only a couple of sentences, and it was fun to get these quick laughs after the much longer stories.

The question and answer period wasn’t all that illuminating, especially since one of the questions was incomprehensible, but his recollection of the crummy Bangor, Maine motel where he stayed during this tour was hilarious. On the more serious side, he encouraged everyone to go out into the lobby and buy a copy of Peter Kessler’s River Town, a piece of immersion journalism about life among Chinese schoolchildren that particularly impressed Sedaris.

After the reading, the audience had three options: leave, head for the book table or line up for the signing. I’d brought a book, so I got in the signing line, though it took me a while to get there, especially since we bumped into a friend on the way out of the theater, and as a result, Mom and I wound up near the back of the line, which barely seemed to move at all in the first half hour. Nathan and Morgan opted to lounge around the lobby, where they had a good view of the signing table where Sedaris was engaging each person who came up to him in conversation. After more than an hour of waiting, Mom got Nathan to take her place in line while she found a bench, and I gave him the pen and notepad for him to draw his skewered mouse while we waited. As we drew closer, we caught snatches of his conversation with other attendees. I especially liked his request to the 13-year-old pianist ahead of us to, after his concert the next day, “Go out and do something autumnal. Rake some leaves, do something with an apple… I don’t know. Just go outside and be autumnal!”

When we finally made it to the table, I presented my book, the copy of Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk that Nathan had bought me for Christmas, and I mentioned that I had bought it for Nathan as well and that we’d snapped a picture of us holding up our identical books. He made a comment about the dangers of that happening in a family at Christmas and how he and his sister had bought each other the same CD or DVD on occasion. He signed the book “To Erin with friendly friendship” and handed it back… and then he noticed my “purse.” “I’m sorry, is that your purse?” he asked. I replied that it had started out as a camera bag and I ended up just carrying it around everywhere. It’s a clunky red and black thing, not ladylike in any sense of the word but certainly utilitarian. “I just have to say,” he persisted, “that is the most ungainly handbag I have ever seen. I mean, if there was a contest for ugly purses, that would take first prize!”

Well, what can I say? I’ve never claimed to fashion-conscious. I just sort of smiled and shrugged, and he shook his head and laughed, and then he noticed the button on the side. He asked what it said, and I explained that I’d picked it up in Salem, Massachussetts – the trip, incidentally, which made me decide to switch from raggedy ten-year-old purse to hardy compact camera bag – and that it read, “Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.” Of course, he informed me that the dragon button just made the ensemble all that much worse, and then he fixed his eye on my green VeggieTales bracelet and asked if that was to go with the button, and I told him that it was a bracelet tied in with the kids’ video series VeggieTales. At this point, he was looking at me a bit like I was some sort of intergalactic visitor, and he laughed again and said, “You are absolutely adorable.”

Nathan should have gone first because I’d already introduced him as my brother, so the signature he got in his copy of Holidays on Ice was “Think Celine,” who Sedaris informed him is a designer of upscale handbags whose work he insisted Nathan track down so he could get me a less mortifying purse for Christmas. However, he seemed delighted with Nathan’s detailed doodle – “Oh! It’s a mouse on a skewer! Well, look at that!” – and then the two of them spent a few minutes discussing their favorite artists, so I think that Nathan probably managed to demonstrate that his visual tastes are a little more refined than his sister’s. We each selected a twisted postcard to tote home with us; I was hoping to snag the one cheerily chirping, “Let’s explore diabetes with owls!” but that was gone by the time I got there, so I had to satisfy myself with the Pekingese skull.

It was closing in on midnight by the time we left, so it was a full evening, and not only did I have the pleasure of listening to him share his keen insights with that wonderful delivery, I think I also got a taste for what it must feel like to be an inadequate American Idol contestant in front of Simon Cowell. Or Ugly Betty. But hey, at least I’m adorable!

David Sedaris and Ian Falconer Present the Darkly Humorous Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk

When I discovered in September that David Sedaris, one of my favorite authors introduced to me by a college class, had come out with a new book, I was excited. And being the squirrel enthusiast that I am, I loved the title - Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary - and the cover illustration. But I didn’t rush out and get it for myself. Instead, I bought a copy for my brother for Christmas, since he likes Sedaris as much as I do.

And then on Christmas morning, I realized that he’d had the same idea, which is especially nifty considering that Sedaris dedicated the book to one of his sisters. “For Erin, Christmas 2010,” reads Nathan’s stylish inscription. “Being a lass who loves squirrels, chipmunks and a good read, I hope this book helps you to ‘be of good cheer’!” We promptly had Dad take the obligatory photo of the two of us holding our identical books, and then we were free to peruse them at our pleasure.

Sedaris, a humorist widely known among National Public Radio enthusiasts, generally writes memoir-type essays, many of which are howlingly funny. At times, they’re also quite moving. In his stories, he introduces some pretty shady characters, but there’s always his comforting narrative presence to fall back on. He comes across as a man with a sharp wit but often a timid manner, especially in his younger years, and despite a twisted sense of humor, he seems like a fundamentally decent guy.

Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk is something of a departure for him. It’s a book of adult fables in which each story focuses on a different animal, or most often a pair of animals. Some of the stories have more characters, but many only have two of any consequence, and there are lots of conversations between incompatible creatures as a result. Ian Falconer, creator of the children’s book series about Olivia the pig, furnishes illustrations, usually one or two per story, but make no mistake: these are not meant for children.

There’s profanity aplenty, along with some rather lewd language. More than that, these stories are violent, with at least one character winding up dead in almost every single story. I guess Sedaris aims to demonstrate that life is brutal, and Falconer illustrates that well. His drawings are limited to a color scale of blacks, whites and reds, and the red is often used to indicate blood. The most grotesque illustrations in the book are found in two back-to-back stories, The Crow and the Lamb and The Sick Rat and the Healthy Rat.

With just one exception, all of the story titles are pairs of animals like the above or a single animal, as in The Motherless Bear, a cautionary tale about trying to milk your own misery for too long, and The Faithful Setter, about the trials of marriage and the rewards of fidelity. The main character in the former is one of the most annoying in the book, while the protagonist in the latter is one of the most likable. It’s one of only two stories written in the first-person, and in both, I felt a sense of connection with Sedaris himself missing in the other chapters. The rest seem pretty detached, but these two feel personal, and the narratorial voice is not far removed from Sedaris’s own.

While the setter story has to do with weathering a rocky marriage, The Grieving Owl, the last and longest story in the book, is about a widower who seems to have enjoyed quite a happy, albeit brief, marriage. The speaker is a gentle soul who doesn’t seem suited for the predatory life he’s been born into. He feels sorry for the prey he catches, and in the wake of his wife’s death, he tries to fill the void in his life by giving his victims a chance to teach him something fascinating about the world in exchange for their freedom. A clever and compassionate soul living amongst his uncouth and uncultured family members, he dares to live life on his own terms until zest for life wears down the edges of his loneliness. It ends the book on a refreshingly positive note.

Most of the stories aren’t so optimistic. Characters get shot and injected with viruses. They have their necks wrung and their teeth bashed in. They get swallowed whole and have their eyes pecked out. Pretty grim stuff. Just about every kind of misfortune that could befall a creature is depicted or referenced. What’s more, most of the characters aren’t very nice. They badmouth each other in vivid language and play very nasty tricks on each other. There are several stories in which there is nothing appealing about the main character or characters. There usually is some little lesson one can take away from the tale, but the overriding theme seems to be, “Boy, is life depressing!” Then again, maybe he hopes that by using animals to illustrate inhumane behavior, we people might be a little more inclined to act humane.

Along with the two first-person stories, my favorite tale is The Squirrel and the Chipmunk, from which the cover illustration is drawn. One of the most serene pictures in the book, it shows the male squirrel and the female chipmunk holding hands from opposite sides of a tiny, candlelit table. Each has a half-full glass of wine and starry eyes. In the story, the two have fallen in love, despite the objections of friends and neighbors. They are certain that their love transcends such superficialities. But the chipmunk realizes that all of the negativity has stirred up doubts after the squirrel mentions his love for jazz. Never having heard of such a thing before, she panics and begins to imagine all the horrible things it could be. It becomes her excuse for breaking things off with someone she adores. There’s nothing morbid about this story, but it certainly is a bittersweet tale about prejudices, reservations and regrets in the realm of romance.

If you’ve never read David Sedaris before, I’m not sure Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk is the place to start. I’d first recommend one of his essay collections, particularly Naked - the book that introduced me to his work in a Creative Nonfiction class - or Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. I found I really missed his temperate narrative presence here. Additionally, while most of his books contain a liberal mix of the beautiful and the ghastly, most of the stories here are ultimately pretty gloomy. Nonetheless, there’s wisdom to be found in these pages, and if you like dark humor, then I would certainly give it a whirl. I waited until Squirrel Appreciation Day to post my review, but mostly, this is a book that makes me appreciate being human.

Sedaris Strikes Again with Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim

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.