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A review by batrock
What I Ate in One Year by Stanley Tucci
2.0
Stanley Tucci's followup to Taste is a frequently tiresome adaptation of his diary from 2023, opening with his arrival in Italy to shoot Conclave. For a book that is reliant on the man's charm, it is jarring to see its descent into rants about how fashion standards for men are slipping and how parenting styles are too lax these days (a note that even he acknowledges has no place where he put it, as the parents he's hanging out with are cool).
Intermittently interesting, with all sorts of names you'll recognise, there's no real mission statement here. How well it works for you is dependent on how much you enjoy kicking around in the mind of Tucci without the structure he afforded himself in Taste, but too often his tangents are negative and nitpicking, or name dropping, or self unaware.
Tucci even mentions that no one is going to bother editing him like they did Proust, which explains why there is no consistency about swearing. December 28, something is described as "[f]uckin' extraordinary", but two pages later "what the f— is happening?!" Either Tucci or his handler can't decide which approach to take, or they don't care. This isn't a nepotism book, it's an extension of an empire, and one that has forgotten the appeal of the main branches.
It's funny to see a man who travels all over the world, not always for work, and who has a holiday house that he can spend weeks at at a time, consider the cost of living. The SAG strike is an undercurrent in the book (and honestly, although he follows it, he doesn't seem that sympathetic to it), but Tucci is clearly comfortable and his wife Felicity Blunt is a publishing superstar (if you don't read acknowledgements sections of books, you should start, and count mentions of Felicity Blunt until you run out of fingers).
The most memorable sequence is Tucci's visit to Guy Ritchie's manor with his brother-in-law, John Krasinski, where they see such elegance and eat so well that they will likely carry the experience to their graves. Tucci clearly does not have Ritchie's riches, but his life is so charmed that he has access to these luxuries regardless. It is difficult to see ourselves as the world sees us, but Tucci is plainly not the journeyman that he imagines himself to be.
Almost completely lacking the charm of Taste, when What I Ate In One Year (And Other Thoughts) is not bland or schmaltzy (the man loves his young children), it is by turns bitter and sour. This was designed as "book you give someone for Christmas" rather than "book you should read for yourself", and its publication date reflects that. In the spirit of giving, pass around this handsome hardcover instead of reading it and you'll have a much better time of it.
Intermittently interesting, with all sorts of names you'll recognise, there's no real mission statement here. How well it works for you is dependent on how much you enjoy kicking around in the mind of Tucci without the structure he afforded himself in Taste, but too often his tangents are negative and nitpicking, or name dropping, or self unaware.
Tucci even mentions that no one is going to bother editing him like they did Proust, which explains why there is no consistency about swearing. December 28, something is described as "[f]uckin' extraordinary", but two pages later "what the f— is happening?!" Either Tucci or his handler can't decide which approach to take, or they don't care. This isn't a nepotism book, it's an extension of an empire, and one that has forgotten the appeal of the main branches.
It's funny to see a man who travels all over the world, not always for work, and who has a holiday house that he can spend weeks at at a time, consider the cost of living. The SAG strike is an undercurrent in the book (and honestly, although he follows it, he doesn't seem that sympathetic to it), but Tucci is clearly comfortable and his wife Felicity Blunt is a publishing superstar (if you don't read acknowledgements sections of books, you should start, and count mentions of Felicity Blunt until you run out of fingers).
The most memorable sequence is Tucci's visit to Guy Ritchie's manor with his brother-in-law, John Krasinski, where they see such elegance and eat so well that they will likely carry the experience to their graves. Tucci clearly does not have Ritchie's riches, but his life is so charmed that he has access to these luxuries regardless. It is difficult to see ourselves as the world sees us, but Tucci is plainly not the journeyman that he imagines himself to be.
Almost completely lacking the charm of Taste, when What I Ate In One Year (And Other Thoughts) is not bland or schmaltzy (the man loves his young children), it is by turns bitter and sour. This was designed as "book you give someone for Christmas" rather than "book you should read for yourself", and its publication date reflects that. In the spirit of giving, pass around this handsome hardcover instead of reading it and you'll have a much better time of it.