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demottar 's review for:
Early Morning Riser
by Katherine Heiny
Every single sentence in this book was 100% gold. Katerine Heiny has got to be the funniest writer I have ever read. Her deadpan delivery of odd, yet heart-warming small town American life was just pure entertainment from beginning to end. This book was exactly what I needed to read right now.
I started marking some of the passages that made me laugh out loud, but then I realized it was almost the entire book, so here are some of my favorite moments just from the first half alone. Thank you, Katherine Heiny for helping me start my summer reading off right.
Jane knew her, by sight at least, because the woman also worked at the dollar store, and she knew the man, too, because he sometimes worked shifts as a cashier at Glen's. (Was every resident of Boyne City moonlighting? It was like living on the set of some underfunded community theatre that didn't have the budget for enough actors.)
Would the introductions never stop? This whole day had been like singing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt" endlessly. (This comparison was not idle speculation on Jane's part; her classes had always loved that song.)
Aggie was wearing a chocolate-brown skirt and a low-cut apricot-colored silk blouse. . . "Look at that!" Duncan said, and for an awful moment, Jane thought he was referring to Aggie's cleavage.
Jane was touched by the effort Jimmy must be making. "Duncan and I can't wait," she said, and just like that, she and Jimmy had a normal phone conversation. (Although Jimmy set the receiver down without saying goodbye or hanging up, and Jane could hear him in the background asking Willard if it was possible to barbeque spaghetti, so maybe it wasn't as normal as all that.)
"If you use the word fellowship, I'm leaving," Gary said. "What's wrong with that word?" Freida asked. "It's just a word he dislikes," Aggie said. "Well, then, we'll just avoid it." Willard made it sound as thought Gary were a normal person making a sensible request.
It all went very well until they lowered the lights and started the videotape, which was called "FDA Standards: What You Should Know." Jane saw the title and felt a flicker of unease. The film didn't start out that badly - it was mainly short clips of peanut-butter factories and tuna canneries and an unseen male narrator talking about food-preparation guidelines. But then the television screen filled with a close-up of a glass bowl full of brown powder, and the narrator proclaimed solemnly, "For every fifty grams of cinnamon, the FDA allows up to ten rodent hairs and four hundred insect fragments," and a girl from Mr. Robicheaux's class cried out, "I had cinnamon toast for breakfast!" and burst into traumatized tears.
"Marie Henderson at Glen's told me that Jimmy bought family packs of cereal and potato chips and told her he was eating for two, and she figured that was Jimmy's way of saying he had a roommate." Yes, it probably was. Jane was fluent in Jimmy's language, too.
Always, Jimmy was there, asking questions like, "Where's the orange juice? Where the butter? I think we're out." (Jimmy seemed incapable of remembering the refrigerator had a door.) Or, "I'm pretty sure I locked the workshop, but would anything terrible happen if I maybe forgot?" Or Jimmy would be using the computer and call out, "Is it okay to click YES on this box that just popped up?" ("No!" Jane would leap to her feet. "Remember last time!") At least they no longer had Taco Tuesdays, but it was a hollow victory. Every night was Taco Tuesday now.
"I've been thinking," Duncan said, and Jane knew by his tone that he was going to propose some home improvement project. Probably he wanted to add some extra shelves to the pantry. She'd seen him in there earlier, trying to retrieve a jar of applesauce without causing ten other jars and cans to tumble to the floor. But what Duncan actually said was: "I think we should have a baby." They talked about it late that night in bed. "I just thought, you know, I wouldn't mind the occasional child," Duncan said softly. "That's the thing about children, though," Jane said. "They're not really occasional. They're pretty full-time." "Well, I guess I meant just one child," he said. "Are you sure you don't have one or two children already?" Jane asked. "Statistically, it seems like you should." "Oh, no," Duncan said calmly. "No woman has ever thought I was a good bet to have a baby with. They were all pretty outspoken on that subject." Jane though, it's true: you can't help who you fall in love with.
The worst thing about Jane's obstetrician office was the other people in the waiting room. Very young girls accompanied by grim-faced mothers. Couples who wore sweatshirts reading HUBBY and WIFEY. A man who talked loudly on his cell phone the whole time: "Ask Doug. No, ask Arnie. Wait, didn't we tell them Thursday? I should be back by one, one thirty at the latest. Put it on my desk." What line of work was he in? How was it possible that Jane had to listen to him talk for a solid thirty minutes and still didn't know? Another woman was accompanied by a man with the most unfortunate facial hair Jane had ever rseen - a moustache no thicker than dental floss that started under his nose and continued down either side of his mouth to meet on his chin. It looked like someone had circled an area on his face with a marker and said, "This here is where your moustache and beard should go." It all reminded Jane that having a baby was not that miraculous. Any two fools could do it.
I started marking some of the passages that made me laugh out loud, but then I realized it was almost the entire book, so here are some of my favorite moments just from the first half alone. Thank you, Katherine Heiny for helping me start my summer reading off right.
Jane knew her, by sight at least, because the woman also worked at the dollar store, and she knew the man, too, because he sometimes worked shifts as a cashier at Glen's. (Was every resident of Boyne City moonlighting? It was like living on the set of some underfunded community theatre that didn't have the budget for enough actors.)
Would the introductions never stop? This whole day had been like singing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt" endlessly. (This comparison was not idle speculation on Jane's part; her classes had always loved that song.)
Aggie was wearing a chocolate-brown skirt and a low-cut apricot-colored silk blouse. . . "Look at that!" Duncan said, and for an awful moment, Jane thought he was referring to Aggie's cleavage.
Jane was touched by the effort Jimmy must be making. "Duncan and I can't wait," she said, and just like that, she and Jimmy had a normal phone conversation. (Although Jimmy set the receiver down without saying goodbye or hanging up, and Jane could hear him in the background asking Willard if it was possible to barbeque spaghetti, so maybe it wasn't as normal as all that.)
"If you use the word fellowship, I'm leaving," Gary said. "What's wrong with that word?" Freida asked. "It's just a word he dislikes," Aggie said. "Well, then, we'll just avoid it." Willard made it sound as thought Gary were a normal person making a sensible request.
It all went very well until they lowered the lights and started the videotape, which was called "FDA Standards: What You Should Know." Jane saw the title and felt a flicker of unease. The film didn't start out that badly - it was mainly short clips of peanut-butter factories and tuna canneries and an unseen male narrator talking about food-preparation guidelines. But then the television screen filled with a close-up of a glass bowl full of brown powder, and the narrator proclaimed solemnly, "For every fifty grams of cinnamon, the FDA allows up to ten rodent hairs and four hundred insect fragments," and a girl from Mr. Robicheaux's class cried out, "I had cinnamon toast for breakfast!" and burst into traumatized tears.
"Marie Henderson at Glen's told me that Jimmy bought family packs of cereal and potato chips and told her he was eating for two, and she figured that was Jimmy's way of saying he had a roommate." Yes, it probably was. Jane was fluent in Jimmy's language, too.
Always, Jimmy was there, asking questions like, "Where's the orange juice? Where the butter? I think we're out." (Jimmy seemed incapable of remembering the refrigerator had a door.) Or, "I'm pretty sure I locked the workshop, but would anything terrible happen if I maybe forgot?" Or Jimmy would be using the computer and call out, "Is it okay to click YES on this box that just popped up?" ("No!" Jane would leap to her feet. "Remember last time!") At least they no longer had Taco Tuesdays, but it was a hollow victory. Every night was Taco Tuesday now.
"I've been thinking," Duncan said, and Jane knew by his tone that he was going to propose some home improvement project. Probably he wanted to add some extra shelves to the pantry. She'd seen him in there earlier, trying to retrieve a jar of applesauce without causing ten other jars and cans to tumble to the floor. But what Duncan actually said was: "I think we should have a baby." They talked about it late that night in bed. "I just thought, you know, I wouldn't mind the occasional child," Duncan said softly. "That's the thing about children, though," Jane said. "They're not really occasional. They're pretty full-time." "Well, I guess I meant just one child," he said. "Are you sure you don't have one or two children already?" Jane asked. "Statistically, it seems like you should." "Oh, no," Duncan said calmly. "No woman has ever thought I was a good bet to have a baby with. They were all pretty outspoken on that subject." Jane though, it's true: you can't help who you fall in love with.
The worst thing about Jane's obstetrician office was the other people in the waiting room. Very young girls accompanied by grim-faced mothers. Couples who wore sweatshirts reading HUBBY and WIFEY. A man who talked loudly on his cell phone the whole time: "Ask Doug. No, ask Arnie. Wait, didn't we tell them Thursday? I should be back by one, one thirty at the latest. Put it on my desk." What line of work was he in? How was it possible that Jane had to listen to him talk for a solid thirty minutes and still didn't know? Another woman was accompanied by a man with the most unfortunate facial hair Jane had ever rseen - a moustache no thicker than dental floss that started under his nose and continued down either side of his mouth to meet on his chin. It looked like someone had circled an area on his face with a marker and said, "This here is where your moustache and beard should go." It all reminded Jane that having a baby was not that miraculous. Any two fools could do it.