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andriakennedy 's review for:
Meaty
by Samantha Irby
Out of order or not? Hard to say, considering additional material was added. (And does it really matter since it's an essay collection?)
Ms. Irby continues to delight me - even if most of the included recipes were still out of my permissible dietary allowance. (Chronic illnesses are funny that way, even if the general public assumes everyone with a dysfunctional GI tract is exactly the same)
I felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia with these essays, though not necessarily in a good way. I needed their insight and wisdom thirteen years ago, sixteen years ago. Picking out similar behaviors and lessons learned was, naturally, painful. And I don't know that I wanted to relive that dating experience - well, ever, but certainly not around this time of year. That's what such personal essays are supposed to do, though: bring an element of your reality into the light and remind you that you weren't alone in behaving like a complete idiot in your 20s and early 30s.
Ms. Irby just cushions the blow with her sense of humor, inviting you to attempt to laugh at the fool you once were.
I'm still trying to process the thoughts that surfaced from turning these pages - and probably will through numerous therapy sessions - but I can't find a single fault. And, given the option, I'd much rather sit down with her and confess my blunders and broken thought processes than fork out co-pays to a blank-faced therapist.
Ms. Irby continues to delight me - even if most of the included recipes were still out of my permissible dietary allowance. (Chronic illnesses are funny that way, even if the general public assumes everyone with a dysfunctional GI tract is exactly the same)
I felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia with these essays, though not necessarily in a good way. I needed their insight and wisdom thirteen years ago, sixteen years ago. Picking out similar behaviors and lessons learned was, naturally, painful. And I don't know that I wanted to relive that dating experience - well, ever, but certainly not around this time of year. That's what such personal essays are supposed to do, though: bring an element of your reality into the light and remind you that you weren't alone in behaving like a complete idiot in your 20s and early 30s.
Ms. Irby just cushions the blow with her sense of humor, inviting you to attempt to laugh at the fool you once were.
I'm still trying to process the thoughts that surfaced from turning these pages - and probably will through numerous therapy sessions - but I can't find a single fault. And, given the option, I'd much rather sit down with her and confess my blunders and broken thought processes than fork out co-pays to a blank-faced therapist.