Customer Reviews
Good Stuff
This book is good, but not as good as "Me Talk Pretty One Day." There was too much space between laughs, but when I did laugh, I laughed A LOT, especially during the last story when he describes the serial-killerish nature of his house. The essays were keenly observant and analytical and people who think he is "an ugly person" do not understand the masterful irony of his bluntness. Sometimes the essays are too obviously used as vehicles for him to explain and justify his eccentricity and a few others are a bit ill-conceived and un-noteworthy, like the one about the rubber hand, but overall, it's a pretty good read. There's also a grossness factor that I didn't particularly appreciate. Finally, and I'm not really using this against the book, I don't understand the full significance of the title. I was expecting it to show up in one of the essays like in "Me Talk Pretty One Day," but it didn't. Maybe it's just me who doesn't get it though.
You'll Enjoy It. Trust Me.
The theme behind David Sedaris's latest collection is brilliantly simple: everybody's family is wacked-out...but only he is ruthless/unfeeling/blunt enough to drag his family into the limelight, revealing their private weirdness for anyone to see (even when they beg, plead, and command him not to - and he writes about that, too). "Oh, the stories I could tell," you say, rolling your eyes knowingly, in reference to a quirky family member - but you don't. David Sedaris does; that's why he's rich and famous, and you are not. It should be noted, however, that the author enjoys a hefty natural advantage: as it turns out, his family really is weirder than most.
In "The Ship Shape," Sedaris skewers his family's pretensions to summerhouse splendor - and how his father's legendary cheapness destroys their dream. After years of sun-worshiping vacations in rental houses, Sedaris's father proposes buying a beach house of their own. Though they should know better, the family believes him, and gets caught up in the whirlwind of beach house excitement. They practice nonchalantly dropping "my home - well, one of my homes" into conversation, and compile a list of whimsical, nautical beach house names. Ultimately, of course, they're crushed with disappointment, as their father rethinks the expense, and the imaginary summer home gets shaved down to a bar in the basement. (This is where my father would have said, "Don't get your hopes up, and you won't be disappointed.")
"Full House" follows a young David Sedaris forced into attending his first all-boys sleepover. Well aware that traditional male pastimes (cars, sports, girls) are of no interest to him, the author correctly predicts that he's in for a night of misery. For hours, the host's dorky parents dominate the party, trying with pathetic enthusiasm to be cool. But once they retire, the evening takes on an even darker aspect, as cards are brought out and strip poker proposed. Terrified of, ahem, exposure in a roomful of handsome, scantily-clad teens, Sedaris is forced to take desperate measures to avoid a lifetime of persecution. Can he successfully masquerade as a regular guy for the duration of the sleepover? Well, of course not. But it's funny to watch him fail.
"Six to Eight Black Men" starts off as a cursory examination of cultural differences, but quickly gets down to its real subject matter: the fact that in the Netherlands, Santa is accompanied, not by elves, but by a team of, yes, six to eight black men. This piece contains my favorite passage of the entire book: "The six to eight black men were characterized as personal slaves until the mid-1950s, when the political climate changed and it was decided that instead of being slaves they were just good friends. I think history has proved that something usually comes between slavery and friendship, a period of time marked not by cookies and quiet hours beside the fire but by bloodshed and mutual hostility." Ho, ho, ho!
"Blood Work" involves a situation we've all found ourselves in: unknowingly being summoned to perform erotic housecleaning in a stranger's apartment for money. As the homeowner's behavior becomes progressively weirder, Sedaris struggles to retain an air of normality (and finish cleaning the apartment); because the author is who he is, it doesn't even occur to him to either punch the guy in the face or simply walk out. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the countertop, and silently wishes for the inner strength of his family's stern-faced housekeeper. The explanation, when it comes, is one of those stranger-than-fiction things that defies probability - but also makes for one hell of a story.
Many of the pieces have to do with the author's family: either humorous childhood tales or present-day musings on the siblings's often tense and awkward relationships. There are, however, a few stories about Sedaris's exploits in rural France with his partner Hugh. Although the title, as far as I can tell, is never explained, it's probably along the lines of a similar horrors-of-childhood story from fellow memoirist Augusten Burroughs. Perhaps, by leaving it to our imaginations, Sedaris is implying that there are even worse stories about his family - stories so terrible that even he can't bring himself to tell them. So let's not try. It's enough to be glad that the author survived both his childhood and the 1970s, and lived to tell the laugh-out-loud funny tale. I loved this book, but try it for yourself. Pick up a copy! Another book I need to recommend -- very much on my mind since I purchased a "used" copy off Amazon is "THE LOSERS CLUB: Complete Restored Edition" by Richard Perez, an odd, compelling, funny novel I can't stop thinking about.
Wanted to like this, but Sedaris might not be likeable.
I have heard David Sedaris on National Public Radio and always really liked his stuff. He's funny and clever, and I was really looking forward reading one of his books.
But Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim is terrible. Most of the time it feels like he is confessing things he knows are reprehensible, but with a contemptuous adolescent, remorseless tone. It is perverse, really. As the narrator of the book, he says cruel, racist, petty things about just about everyone else he mentions in the book with no trace of humor or irony. I hate to say it, but he seems like just an ugly person.
The book made me uncomfortable to read, and at the second reference to how surprised he was at seeing "white servants", I took it back to the store. There are too many inspiring, challenging books in the world to waste time reading something like this. I can't speak for his other books, and I still like him on NPR, but pass on this one, friends.
