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A review by ryan_oneil
Calypso by David Sedaris
2.0
This is a well-written memoir of someone I don't really like. I'm not sure how many stars to give it. The writing is good but I don't like what it says all the time. The author is a dillhole but he does a good job in describing how he's a dillhole (even if he doesn't realize it or mean to).
It's a collection of essays about his life, which is what David Sedaris does. Some are meant to be funny and some aren't.
In one essay, he complains about wanting customer service people to form a human connection with him. I can't imagine how exhausting that would be for customer service people. These aren't people at a party, they're people who are trying to check people in to a hotel or serve you at a restaurant. They're just trying to do their job. Sedaris does encounter one who tries to be friendly but he accuses him of doing it just for a bigger tip.
In another essay about the suicide of one of his sisters, he mentions that someone once said to him something along the lines of he has three children but one died before being born. Sedaris says he doesn't know what to do with that. HOW ABOUT BEING A HUMAN BEING AND MAKING A HUMAN CONNECTION?
Just to prove to his dad how easy it would've been to buy a beach house when Sedaris was a child, Sedaris, as an adult buys an $800,000 beach house practically on a whim. (He doesn't mention the price but it was easy enough to look up and I was curious.) Sedaris can't place himself in his dad's shoes and consider that money *was* an object at the time, only that his dad hemmed and hawed, not thinking that those were excuses so he didn't have to tell his kids they couldn't afford it.
He spends an entire essay talking about buying extravagantly expensive clothes in Tokyo, mentioning that a pair of culottes cost as much as a Macbook Air -- about a thousand dollars. He also goes to great lengths to say that shopping is better than seeing the cultural sights. I found neither of things to be charming or funny but rather sad and puzzling.
There's a story about how his mother used to tell him and his siblings stories about her day. Sedaris calls the sessions a "master class." His mom would work on a story with each telling and change what had happened over the course of re-tellings to improve it. She would dismiss concerns about the truth. Later, Sedaris recounts to his husband how his parents were in a restaurant in Raleigh, NC, when the news of Dr. Martin Luther King's assassination was announced. Sedaris says that everyone in the restaurant applauded except for his parents. Are we supposed to believe that happened or is it another of his mother's stories that had been told and re-told for maximum impact?
This matter of truth is intentional and not insignificant. After a to-do on the radio show, "This American Life," the veracity of Sedaris's stories and the importance of their accuracy became a thing. This story about his mother seems to be a direct repudiation of the notion that Sedaris needs to tell the truth the whole time and we should be happy that he's telling a better, more entertaining version of events. If he wants to do that, there's a whole genre of literature for that: fiction.
For me, the lack of acknowledgment of privilege, the way he often treats people that he sees as beneath him, and his seemingly casual relationship with the truth all resulted in me not enjoying this book.
It's a collection of essays about his life, which is what David Sedaris does. Some are meant to be funny and some aren't.
In one essay, he complains about wanting customer service people to form a human connection with him. I can't imagine how exhausting that would be for customer service people. These aren't people at a party, they're people who are trying to check people in to a hotel or serve you at a restaurant. They're just trying to do their job. Sedaris does encounter one who tries to be friendly but he accuses him of doing it just for a bigger tip.
In another essay about the suicide of one of his sisters, he mentions that someone once said to him something along the lines of he has three children but one died before being born. Sedaris says he doesn't know what to do with that. HOW ABOUT BEING A HUMAN BEING AND MAKING A HUMAN CONNECTION?
Just to prove to his dad how easy it would've been to buy a beach house when Sedaris was a child, Sedaris, as an adult buys an $800,000 beach house practically on a whim. (He doesn't mention the price but it was easy enough to look up and I was curious.) Sedaris can't place himself in his dad's shoes and consider that money *was* an object at the time, only that his dad hemmed and hawed, not thinking that those were excuses so he didn't have to tell his kids they couldn't afford it.
He spends an entire essay talking about buying extravagantly expensive clothes in Tokyo, mentioning that a pair of culottes cost as much as a Macbook Air -- about a thousand dollars. He also goes to great lengths to say that shopping is better than seeing the cultural sights. I found neither of things to be charming or funny but rather sad and puzzling.
There's a story about how his mother used to tell him and his siblings stories about her day. Sedaris calls the sessions a "master class." His mom would work on a story with each telling and change what had happened over the course of re-tellings to improve it. She would dismiss concerns about the truth. Later, Sedaris recounts to his husband how his parents were in a restaurant in Raleigh, NC, when the news of Dr. Martin Luther King's assassination was announced. Sedaris says that everyone in the restaurant applauded except for his parents. Are we supposed to believe that happened or is it another of his mother's stories that had been told and re-told for maximum impact?
This matter of truth is intentional and not insignificant. After a to-do on the radio show, "This American Life," the veracity of Sedaris's stories and the importance of their accuracy became a thing. This story about his mother seems to be a direct repudiation of the notion that Sedaris needs to tell the truth the whole time and we should be happy that he's telling a better, more entertaining version of events. If he wants to do that, there's a whole genre of literature for that: fiction.
For me, the lack of acknowledgment of privilege, the way he often treats people that he sees as beneath him, and his seemingly casual relationship with the truth all resulted in me not enjoying this book.