Earlier this year, while I was browsing the bookstore, I spotted a new title by Bradley Trevor Greive, author of The Blue Day Book
and about a dozen other irresistible gift books featuring
black-and-white photographs of animals above the author’s words of
wisdom and humor. I bought a copy and stuck it on my shelf next to the
rest of his books. It wasn’t until much later that I cracked open the
cover to discover that this would likely be the last in the series.
I’m Sorry... My Bad!
is an interesting sort of farewell. It implies that he’s feeling very
guilty as he wraps up this stage of his career and can’t move on until
he’s come clean, and indeed, the humble introduction seems to support
that. Not that Greive did anything extraordinarily cruel or vile, but
who among us hasn’t felt remorse for, as we say in the Confession of
Sins at the beginning of church, “what we have done and what we have
left undone”? So this book seems to have a two-fold purpose. Greive is
apologizing to everyone in his life who he may have ever let down or
offended, and he’s giving each of us a means by which to open those
doors of communication ourselves when we feel compelled to apologize but
can’t quite find the words.
In most of Greive’s books, he
comes across as a sort of omniscient narrator. We get a taste of his
personality, but he’s speaking in general terms to a lot of people at
once. Here, however, there’s a definite sense of intimacy. The words “I”
or “me” appear on nearly every page, so that it feels very much as
though he is talking to us, or as though whoever has given the book as a
gift is talking to the recipient. Almost as prevalent throughout the
book is the word “you”. This is one person talking directly to another
person, apologizing for an unknown offense and begging for forgiveness.
Greive doesn’t offer advice like he usually does; he simply makes a
contrite request. “I’m sorry,” he says again and again. And “please” -
please hear him out, which isn’t hard to do in such a sparse book filled
with such engaging photographs. At about 60 pages in length, with few
pages featuring more than a sentence of text, this may well be the most
concise book in the series. Stark. Simple. The photos accentuate this.
There is an aura of isolation about the book; out of more than 50
pictures, only eight feature more than one animal. One of those,
incidentally, is perhaps the most affecting image of all: two goldfish
bowls, its occupants facing each other, unable to bridge the gap between
them. The solitary creatures gaze out from the pages, oozing loneliness
and regret. It’s quite affecting. I would think it would be hard to
refuse an apology so earnestly presented.
Of course, Greive
does get a little goofy at times, particularly with the hyperbolic “May
God, in his infinite wisdom, afflict my tender buttocks with ten
thousand explosive boils for all eternity if I ever upset you again.”
But mostly, the tone is very solemn, and page after page of sad-faced
animals lowers the reader’s defenses. A wistful-looking chimp hugging
himself. A downcast seal. A raccoon doing his best Huge-Eyed Puss In Boots impersonation. What heart could remain stony against such an onslaught?
I hope that I have few occasions to merit such depths of contrition. This is the sort of apology I can imagine Anne Shirley
issuing, an apology powerful enough to win over even the likes of
persnickety Rachel Lynde. Because Greive leaves the response entirely up
to the recipient, the book ends plaintively, with a simple “Please?” So
the conclusion lacks closure, and it does little to make the rest of
the book feel like less of a downer. But then, as Hermione tells us in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,
remorse is supposed to be painful. So, too, is parting. In his
introduction, Greive writes, “If my humorous gift books have brought you
pleasure over the years, then I apologize that this series has come to
an end.” Apology reluctantly accepted.
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