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No medium available to mankind is spared his cultural vision; no family member (even the dynasties of family pets) is forgotten in these pages of sardonic memories of Sedaris's numerous incarnations in North Carolina, Chicago, New York, and France.
One essay, punctuated by a conspicuous absence of s's and plurals, introduces the lisping young fifth-grader David "Thedarith," who arms himself with a thesaurus, learns every nonsibilant word in the lexicon, eludes his wily speech therapy teacher, and amazes his countrified North Carolina teachers with his out-of-nowhere and man-size vocabulary.
By an ironic twist of fate, readers find present-day Sedaris in France, where only now, after all these years, he must cling safely to just plural nouns so as to avoid assigning the wrong genders to French objects. (Never mind that ordering items from the grocer becomes rather expensive.) Even the strictest of grammarians won't be able to look at the parts of speech in the same way after exposing themselves to the linguistic phenomena of Sedarisian humor. Just why is a sandwich masculine, and yet, say, a belt is feminine in the French language? As he stealthily tries to decode French, like a cross between a housewife and a shrewddetective, he earns the contempt of his sadistic French teacher and soon even resorts to listening to American books on tape for secret relief.
What David Sedaris has to say about language classes, his brother's gangsta-rap slang, typewriters, computers, audiobooks, movies, and even restaurant menus is sure to unleash upon the world a mad rash of pocket-dictionary-toting nouveau grammarians who bow their heads to a new, inverted word order.
Sedaris first drew national attention in 1992 with a stint on National Public Radio, on which he recounted his experiences as a Christmas elf at Macy's. He discussed "the code names for various posts, such as 'The Vomit Corner,' a mirrored wall near the Magic Tree" and confided that his response to "I'm going to have you fired" was the desire to lean over and say, "I'm going to have you killed." The radio pieces were such a hit that Sedaris, then working as a house cleaner, started getting offers to write movies, soap operas and Seinfeld episodes.
In subsequent appearances on NPR, Sedaris proved he wasn't just a velvet-clad flash in the pan; he's also wickedly funny on the subjects of smoking, speed, shoplifting and nervous tics. His work began appearing in magazines like Harper's and Mirabella, and his first book Barrel Fever, which included "SantaLand Diaries," was a bestseller. "These hilarious, lively and breathtakingly irreverent stories…made me laugh out loud more than anything I've read in years," wrote Francine Prose in the Washington Post Book World.
Since then, each successive Sedaris volume has zoomed to the top of the bestseller lists. In Naked, he recounts odd jobs like volunteering at a mental hospital, picking apples as a seasonal laborer and stripping woodwork for a Nazi sympathizer. The stocking stuffer-sized Holidays on Ice collects Sedaris' Christmas-themed work, including a fictional holiday newsletter from the homicidal stepmother of a 22-year-old Vietnamese immigrant ("She arrived in this house six weeks ago speaking only the words 'Daddy,' 'Shiny' and 'Five dollar now'. Quite a vocabulary!!!!!").
But Sedaris' best pieces often revolve around his childhood in North Carolina and his family of six siblings, including the brother who talks like a redneck gangsta rapper and the sister who, in a hilarious passage far too dirty to quote here, introduces him to the joys of the Internet. Sedaris' recent book Me Talk Pretty One Day describes, among other things, his efforts to learn French while helping his boyfriend fix up a Normandy farmhouse; he progresses "from speaking like an evil baby to speaking like a hillbilly. 'Is thems the thoughts of cows?' I'd ask the butcher, pointing to the calves' brains displayed in the front window."
Sedaris has been compared to American humorists such as Mark Twain, James Thurber and Dorothy Parker; Publisher's Weekly called him "Garrison Keillor's evil twin." Pretty heady stuff for a man who claims there are cats that weigh more than his IQ score. But as This American Life producer Ira Glass once pointed out, it would be wrong to think of Sedaris as "just a working Joe who happens to put out these perfectly constructed pieces of prose." Measured by his ability to turn his experiences into a sharply satirical, sidesplittingly funny form of art, David Sedaris is no less than a genius.
Sedaris's younger sister Amy is also a writer and performer; the two have collaborated on plays under the moniker "The Talent Family." Amy Sedaris has appeared onstage as a member of the Second City improv troupe and on Comedy Central in the series Strangers with Candy.
"If I weren't a writer, I'd be a taxidermist," Sedaris said in a chat on Barnes and Noble.com. According to the Boston Phoenix, his collection of stuffed dead animals includes a squirrel, two fruit bats, four Boston terriers and a baby ostrich.
Chapter One
Go Carolina
ANYONE WHO WATCHES EVEN THE SLIGHTEST amount of TV is familiar with the scene: An agent knocks on the door of some seemingly ordinary home or office. The door opens, and the person holding the knob is asked to identify himself. The agent then says, "I'm going to ask you to come with me."
They're always remarkably calm, these agents. If asked "Why do I need to go anywhere with you?" they'll straighten their shirt cuffs or idly brush stray hairs from the sleeves of their sport coats and say, "Oh, I think we both know why."
The suspect then chooses between doing things the hard way and doing things the easy way, and the scene ends with either gunfire or the gentlemanly application of handcuffs. Occasionally it's a case of mistaken identity, but most often the suspect knows exactly why he's being taken. It seems he's been expecting this to happen. The anticipation has ruled his life, and now, finally, the wait is over. You're sometimes led to believe that this person is actually relieved, but I've never bought it. Though it probably has its moments, the average day spent in hiding is bound to beat the average day spent in prison. When it comes time to decide who gets the bottom bunk, I think anyone would agree that there's a lot to be said for doing things the hard way.
The agent came for me during a geography lesson. She entered the room and nodded at my fifth-grade teacher, who stood frowning at a map of Europe. What would needle me later was the realization that this had all been prearranged. My capture had been scheduled to go down at exactly 2:30 on a Thursday afternoon. Theagent would be wearing a dung-colored blazer over a red knit turtleneck, her heels sensibly low in case the suspect should attempt a quick getaway.
"David," the teacher said, "this is Miss Samson, and she'd like you to go with her now."
No one else had been called, so why me? I ran down a list of recent crimes, looking for a conviction that might stick. Setting fire to a reportedly flameproof Halloween costume, stealing a set of barbecue tongs from an unguarded patio, altering the word on a list of rules posted on the gymnasium door; never did it occur to me that I might be innocent.
"You might want to take your books with you," the teacher said. "And your jacket. You probably won't be back before the bell rings."
Though she seemed old at the time, the agent was most likely fresh out of college. She walked beside me and asked what appeared to be an innocent and unrelated question: "So, which do you like better, State or Carolina?"
She was referring to the athletic rivalry between the Triangle area's two largest universities. Those who cared about such things tended to express their allegiance by wearing either Tar Heel powder blue, or Wolf Pack red, two colors that managed to look good on no one. The question of team preference was common in our part of North Carolina, and the answer supposedly spoke volumes about the kind of person you either were or hoped to become. I had no interest in football or basketball but had learned it was best to pretend otherwise. If a boy didn't care for barbecued chicken or potato chips, people would accept it as a matter of personal taste, saying, "Oh well, I guess it takes all kinds." You could turn up your nose at the president or Coke or even God, but there were names for boys who didn't like sports. When the subject came up, I found it best to ask which team my questioner preferred. Then I'd say, "Really? Me, too!"
Asked by the agent which team I supported, I took my cue from her red turtleneck and told her that I was for State. "Definitely State. State all the way."
It was an answer I would regret for years to come.
"State, did you say?" the agent asked.
"Yes, State. They're the greatest."
"I see." She led me through an unmarked door near the principal's office, into a small, windowless room furnished with two facing desks. It was the kind of room where you'd grill someone until they snapped, the kind frequently painted so as to cover the bloodstains. She gestured toward what was to become my regular seat, then continued her line of questioning.
"And what exactly are they, State and Carolina?"
"Colleges? Universities?"
She opened a file on her desk, saying, "Yes, you're right. Your answers are correct, but you're saying them incorrectly. You're telling me that they're colleg eth and univeritie th, when actually they're college s and univer s itie s. You're giving me a th sound instead of a nice clear s. "Can you hear the di s tinction between the two different s sound s?"
I nodded.
"May I plea s e have an actual an s wer?"
"Uh-huh."
" 'Uh-huh' i s not a word."
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay," I said. "Sure, I can hear it."
"You can hear what, the di s tinction? The contra s t?"
"Yeah, that."
It was the first battle of my war against the letter s, and I was determined to dig my foxhole before the sun went down. According to Agent Samson, a s tate c ertified s peech therapi s t," my s was sibilate, meaning that I lisped.
This was not news to me.
"Our goal i s to work together until eventually you can s peak correctly," Agent Samson said. She made a great show of enunciating her own sparkling s's, and the effect was profoundly irritating. "I'm trying to help you, but the longer you play the s e little game s the longer thi s i s going to take."
The woman spoke with a heavy western North Carolina accent, which I used to discredit her authority. Here was a person for whom the word pen had two syllables. Her people undoubtedly drank from clay jugs and hollered for Paw when the vittles were ready — so who was she to advise me on anything? Over the coming years I would find a crack in each of the therapists sent to train what Miss Samson now defined as my lazy tongue. "That 's it s problem," she said. "It's ju s t plain lazy."
My sisters Amy and Gretchen were, at the time, undergoing therapy for their lazy eyes, while my older sister, Lisa, had been born with a lazy leg that had refused to grow at the same rate as its twin. She'd worn a corrective brace for the first two years of her life, and wherever she roamed she left a trail of scratch marks in the soft pine floor. I liked the idea that a part of one's body might be thought of as lazy — not thoughtless or hostile, just unwilling to extend itself for the betterment of the team. My father often accused my mother of having a lazy mind, while she in turn accused him of having a lazy index finger, unable to dial the phone when he knew damn well he was going to be late.
My therapy sessions were scheduled for every Thursday at 2: 30, and with the exception of my mother, I discussed them with no one. The word therapy suggested a profound failure on my part. Mental patients had therapy. Normal people did not. I didn't see my sessions as the sort of thing that one would want to advertise, but as my teacher liked to say, "I guess it takes all kinds." Whereas my goal was to keep it a secret, hers was to inform the entire class. If I got up from my seat at 2:30 , she'd say, "Sit back down, David. You've still got five minutes before your speech therapy session." If I remained seated until 2:30 , she'd say, "David, don't forget you have a speech therapy session at two-thirty." On the days I was absent, I imagined she addressed the room, saying, "David's not here today but if he were, he'd have a speech therapy session at two-thirty."
My sessions varied from week to week. Sometimes I'd spend the half hour parroting whatever Agent Samson had to say. We'd occasionally pass the time examining charts on tongue position or reading childish s-laden texts recounting the adventures of seals or settlers named Sassy or Samuel. On the worst of days she'd haul out a tape recorder and show me just how much progress I was failing to make.
"My s peech therapi s "t's name i s Mi ss Chri ss y S am s on." She'd hand me the microphone and lean back with her arms crossed. "Go ahead, s ay it. I want you to hear what you s ound like."
She was in love with the sound of her own name and seemed to view my speech impediment as a personal assault. If I wanted to spend the rest of my life as David Thedarith, then so be it. She, however, was going to be called Mi ss Chri ss y S am s on. Had her name included no s's, she probably would have bypassed a career in therapy and devoted herself to yanking out healthy molars or performing unwanted clitoridectomies on the schoolgirls of Africa. Such was her personality.
"Oh, come on," my mother would say. "I'm sure she's not that bad. Give her a break. The girl's just trying to do her job."
I was a few minutes early one week and entered the office to find Agent Samson doing her job on Garth Barclay, a slight, kittenish boy I'd met back in the fourth grade. "You may wait out s ide in the hallway until it i s your turn," she told me. A week or two later my session was interrupted by mincing Steve Bixler, who popped his head in the door and announced that his parents were taking him out of town for a long weekend, meaning that he would miss his regular Friday session. "Thorry about that," he said.
I started keeping watch over the speech therapy door, taking note of who came and went. Had I seen one popular student leaving the office, I could have believed my mother and viewed my lisp as the sort of thing that might happen to anyone. Unfortunately, I saw no popular students. Chuck Coggins, Sam Shelton, Louis Delucca: obviously, there was some connection between a sibilate s and a complete lack of interest in the State versus Carolina issue.
None of the therapy students were girls. They were all boys like me who kept movie star scrapbooks and made their own curtains. "You don't want to be doing that," the men in our families would say. "That's a girl thing." Baking scones and cupcakes for the school janitors, watching Guiding Light with our mothers, collecting rose petals for use in a fragrant potpourri: anything worth doing turned out to be a girl thing. In order to enjoy ourselves, we learned to be duplicitous. Our stacks of Cosmopolitan were topped with an unread issue of Boy's Life or Sports Illustrated, and our decoupage projects were concealed beneath the sporting equipment we never asked for but always received. When asked what we wanted to be when we grew up, we hid the truth and listed who we wanted to sleep with when we grew up. "A policeman or a fireman or one of those guys who works with high-tension wires." Symptoms were feigned, and our mothers wrote notes excusing our absences on the day of the intramural softball tournament. Brian had a stomach virus or Ted suffered from that twenty-four-hour bug that seemed to be going around.
One of the s e day s I'm going to have to hang a s ign on that door," Agent Samson used to say. She was probably thinking along the lines of SPEECH THERAPY LAB, though a more appropriate marker would have read FUTURE HOMOSEXUALS OF AMERICA. We knocked ourselves out trying to fit in but were ultimately betrayed by our tongues. At the beginning of the school year, while we were congratulating ourselves on successfully passing for normal, Agent Samson was taking names as our assembled teachers raised their hands, saying, "I've got one in my homeroom," and "There are two in my fourth-period math class." Were they also able to spot the future drunks and depressives? Did they hope that by eliminating our lisps, they might set us on a different path, or were they trying to prepare us for future stage and choral careers?
Miss Samson instructed me, when forming an s, to position the tip of my tongue against the rear of my top teeth, right up against the gum line. The effect produced a sound not unlike that of a tire releasing air. It was awkward and strange-sounding, and elicited much more attention than the original lisp. I failed to see the hissy s as a solution to the problem and continued to talk normally, at least at home, where my lazy tongue fell upon equally lazy ears. At school, where every teacher was a potential spy, I tried to avoid an s ound whenever possible. "Yes," became "correct," or a military "affirmative." "Please," became "with your kind permission," and questions were pleaded rather than asked. After a few weeks of what she called "endless pestering" and what I called "repeated badgering," my mother bought me a pocket thesaurus, which provided me with s-free alternatives to just about everything. I consulted the book both at home in my room and at the daily learning academy other people called our school. Agent Samson was not amused when I began referring to her as an articulation coach, but the majority of my teachers were delighted. "What a nice vocabulary," they said. "My goodness, such big words!"
Plurals presented a considerable problem, but I worked around them as best I could; "rivers," for example, became either "a river or two" or "many a river." Possessives were a similar headache, and it was easier to say nothing than to announce that the left-hand and the right-hand glove of Janet had fallen to the floor. After all the compliments I had received on my improved vocabulary, it seemed prudent to lie low and keep my mouth shut. I didn't want anyone thinking I was trying to be a pet of the teacher.
When I first began my speech therapy, I worried that the Agent Samson plan might work for everyone but me, that the other boys might strengthen their lazy tongues, turn their lives around, and leave me stranded. Luckily my fears were never realized. Despite the woman's best efforts, no one seemed to make any significant improvement. The only difference was that we were all a little quieter. Thanks to Agent Samson's tape recorder, I, along with the others, now had a clear sense of what I actually sounded like. There was the lisp, of course, but more troubling was my voice itself, with its excitable tone and high, girlish pitch. I'd hear myself ordering lunch in the cafeteria, and the sound would turn my stomach. How could anyone stand to listen to me? Whereas those around me might grow up to be lawyers or movie stars, my only option was to take a vow of silence and become a monk. My former classmates would call the abbey, wondering how I was doing, and the priest would answer the phone. "You can't talk to him!" he'd say. "Why, Brother David hasn't spoken to anyone in thirty-five years!"
"Oh, relax," my mother said. "Your voice will change eventually."
"And what if it doesn't?"
She shuddered. "Don't be so morbid."
It turned out that Agent Samson was something along the lines of a circuit-court speech therapist. She spent four months at our school and then moved on to another. Our last meeting was held the day before school let out for Christmas. My classrooms were all decorated, the halls — everything but her office, which remained as bare as ever. I was expecting a regular half hour of Sassy the seal and was delighted to find her packing up her tape recorder.
"I thought that thi s afternoon we might let loo s e and have a party, you and I. How doe s that s ound?" She reached into her desk drawer and withdrew a festive tin of cookies. "Here, have one. I made them my s elf from s cratch and, boy, was it a me ss! Do you ever make cookie s?"
I lied, saying that no, I never had.
"Well, it 's hard work," she said. "E s pecially if you don't have a mixer."
It was unlike Agent Samson to speak so casually, and awkward to sit in the hot little room, pretending to have a normal conversation. "S o," she said, "what are your plan s for the holiday s?"
"Well, I usually remain here and, you know, open a gift from my family."
"Only one?" she asked.
"Maybe eight or ten."
"Never s ix or s even?"
"Rarely," I said.
"And what do you do on De c ember thirty-fir s t, New Year's Eve?"
"On the final day of the year we take down the pine tree in our living room and eat marine life."
"You're pretty good at avoiding those s's," she said. "I have to hand it to you, you're tougher than most."
I thought she would continue trying to trip me up, but instead she talked about her own holiday plans. "It 's pretty hard with my fian c in Vietnam," she said. "La s t pretending to have a normal conversation. "S o," she said, "what are your plan s for the holiday s?"
"Well, I usually remain here and, you know, open a gift from my family."
"Only one?" she asked.
"Maybe eight or ten."
"Never s ix or s even?"
"Rarely," I said.
"And what do you do on De c ember thirty-fir s t, New Year's Eve?"
"On the final day of the year we take down the pine tree in our living room and eat marine life."
"You're pretty good at avoiding those s's," she said. "I have to hand it to you, you're tougher than most."
I thought she would continue trying to trip me up, but instead she talked about her own holiday plans. "It 's pretty hard with my fian c in Vietnam," she said. "La s t year we went up to see hi s folk s in Roanoke, but thi s year I'll spend Chri s tma s with my grandmother out s ide of Asheville. My parent s will come, and we'll all try our be s t to have a good time. I'll eat s ome turkey and go to church, and then, the next day, a friend and I will drive down to Jack s onville to watch Florida play Tenne ss ee in the Gator Bowl."
I couldn't imagine anything worse than driving down to Florida to watch a football game, but I pretended to be impressed. "Wow, that ought to be eventful."
"I wa s in Memphi s la s t year when N C State whooped Georgia fourteen to s even in the Liberty Bowl," she said. "And next year, I don't care who's playing, but I want to be s itting front-row c enter at the Tangerine Bowl. Have you ever been to Orlando? It's a super fun pla c e. If my future hu s band can find a job in hi s field, we're hoping to move down there within a year or two. Me living in Florida. I bet that would make you happy, wouldn't it?"
I didn't quite know how to respond. Who was this college bowl fanatic with no mixer and a fiancé in Vietnam, and why had she taken so long to reveal herself? Here I'd thought of her as a cold-blooded agent when she was really nothing but a slightly dopey, inexperienced speech teacher. She wasn't a bad person, Miss Samson, but her timing was off. She should have acted friendly at the beginning of the year instead of waiting until now, when all I could do was feel sorry for her.
"I tried my be s t to work with you and the other s, but s ometime s a per s on's be s t ju s t i s n't good enough."
She took another cookie and turned it over in her hands. "I really wanted to prove my s elf and make a differen c in people's live s, but it's hard to do your job when you're met with s o much re s i s tan c e. My student s don't like me, and I gue ss that's ju s t the way it i s. What can I s ay? A s a s peech teacher, I'm a complete failure."
She moved her hands toward her face, and I worried that she might start to cry. "Hey, look," I said. "I'm thorry."
"Ha-ha," she said. "I got you." She laughed much more than she needed to and was still at it when she signed the form recommending me for the following year's speech therapy program. "Thorry, indeed. You've got some work ahead of you, mi s ter."
I related the story to my mother, who got a huge kick out of it. "You've got to admit that you really are a sucker," she said.
I agreed but, because none of my speech classes ever made a difference, I still prefer to use the word chump.
I love listening to David Sedaris. His stories are always hilarious, often touching and frequently completely inappropriate for children.
5 out of 8 people found this review helpful.
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Posted July 20, 2000
Sedaris lands a firm whack to the funny bone! The next thing you know you're laughing out loud....and explaining yourself to people who've noticed.
5 out of 5 people found this review helpful.
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Posted December 11, 2000
I laughed till I cried at his earlier books, but--I swear I'm not making this up--I laughed so hard I almost threw up when I was reading Me Talk Pretty One Day. I was home alone and couldn't wait for my husband to come home so I could read parts of it to him.
4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.
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Posted October 18, 2000
Mr. Sedaris is a genuine wit. He can combine fast pace narrative style with his own brand of keen insight.
2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
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Posted August 9, 2000
it just keeps on giving. you will find yourself chuckling in the shower, and insisting that people allow you to read passages aloud to them. ruins you for other reading even days after you are done with it.
2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Noteasilyamused
Posted November 11, 2010
From the first page, I did not like this book. I forced myself to finish it. I was expecting humor, I did not find any. I found a boring, self absorbed man who whined his way through this horrid book. Please, I beg you, do not waste your time or money.
1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
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Posted June 27, 2000
Ahhhhh David Sedaris... How is it that a gay man from North Carolina can so vividly paint a portrait of my own straight, female and extraordinarily midwestern childhood... I believe David Sedaris could convince me of the heretofore unheralded beauty of yard art. He's so astoundingly precise with language and persuasion, he could easily convince me to fill a bathtub full of dirt and plant plastic daisies and pink flamingos in it! READ THIS BOOK...laugh out loud...sigh a sweet, long-winded sigh, and revel in this man's vision of the world...truly an island unto itself.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted June 6, 2000
While perusing the shelves in a neighborhood independent bookstore one evening, this book caught my eye -- the idea of nonfiction essays and the France connection -- and Sedaris' name was familiar from NPR. I picked it up and thoroughly enjoyed the wacky and honest insights page by page by page. It was a smooth enjoyable read from beginning to end.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted June 6, 2013
Makes me laugh. He's funny and a good writer.
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Posted May 14, 2013
In this book Sedaris tells his life story and the things that happen to him throughout his life. When I first started to read this book I enjoyed it, and I liked to hear about how Sedaris was able to find ways to work around his speech impediment when he was a child. In one of the chapters his dad forced him to play an instrument that he had no interest in. I was able to relate to him in this chapter because when I was a child I was forced to play a sport that I had absolutely had no interest in but my parents wanted me to play. One of the chapters that disturbed me the most was when he was at a friend’s house and he walked into the bathroom after someone had left poop in the toilet. He felt that someone would think it was him so he tried to flush it, but then it started to overflow and how he made it stop you can read if you want. The majority of the content in this book I would say is rated R because has quite a bit of foul language, drugs and dirty humor. If you have a dirty mind or are eager for a twisted and sick read then I encourage you to read it, but if you’re like me and aren’t into twisted humor then this isn’t the book for you. Although, I didn’t really agree with what was being said at times during this book, I found it hard to put down. The book is very interesting because he doesn’t live a normal life, it’s actually very far from it. I would recommend this book because of how off the wall it is and funny, but some parts my stomach was too weak to handle. Although, I can’t said that I hated this book because the adventures he went through and how his life actually turns out is very interesting and a bit comical at moments.
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Posted May 14, 2013
I never really found this book to funny, although I did find some parts interesting. I must say Sedaris does have a creative mind though. A lot of his imaginations in this novel make you think real hard about what he is really talking about. This book explains the events that he treasures and keeps close to him. A lot of these events I would include are Sedaris having a lisp as a child causing him to completely change his vocabulary around, having a little brother who swears constantly, his sexuality being different, his partner Hugh, experiencing with drugs and going to school, his move to France with his boyfriend, etc. This book has many disturbing and immature scenes as well. For example I could describe disturbing and immature would be when Sedaris was at a party and he needed to use the restroom and someone left him a clogged toilet. You would think as a grown and older man he would have asked for a plunger. But instead Sedaris uses his hands to scoop out the feces because he is scared that people will judge him for clogging the toilet. If you like to read about authors who tell there past events then this is the book for you. I do not think there is any moral to this book although there was a lot of dry humor and many interesting and disturbing parts.
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Posted May 14, 2013
Author David Sedaris of "Me Talk Pretty One Day" writes a wickedly weird and intoxicating book. This book is based on the life David has lead and the many unbelievable stories he has to share. Sedaris opens up about his life as a homosexual and and a recovering drug abuser. If you think you have heard just about anything, think again because Sedaris' humor is unlike any other and he uses his life experiences to produce humor. The book begins discussing David's childhood and when he realized that he was a homosexual. Throughout the book it progresses from his childhood to his adult life. Most of his adult life speaks of his drug use and the time he had spent in Paris, France with his boyfriend Hugh. In all honesty I would 100% recommend this book to anyone who enjoys laughter mixed with a little bit of weird. This book kept me reading and reading. It was truly hard for me to put the book down. So my advise to you is to go out and read Sedaris' book!
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Posted May 13, 2013
On Achieve bestseller’s list; David Sedaris is the author of “Me Talk Pretty One Day” which was published in the year 2000 possibly during the Lesbian History/Celebrations. It was written when he was living in France. The author introduces of lifestyle of homosexuality though out the book. I advise conservatives to read the novel with caution to the author’s attitude on introducing unique fantasies and imagination. Finish reading the novel before you judge it. Based on the title of the novel I thought it was going to be romance or fiction novel. I delighted by the chapter of Midget Abilities because David’s father wanted him to become a classic American. The author illustrates his father as a gifted jazz musician. However; the description of his music teacher Mister Mancini requires some improvement. My reaction lacked enthusiasm because of the emphasis on “turds and the list of standards” on page 154. However, novel purposed a unique way to prove something to its audience by using freedom of speech and the humor of dysfunctional situations to improve the quality of life. From CHC.
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Posted May 13, 2013
In the book Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris is a compilation of his essays about many different subjects and topics each chapter is different. He starts off the book by talking about his childhood lisp and how he wants to name his guitar a boys name. All of his chapters just get stranger after that, especially the Big Boy chapter I honestly did not understand the point of that essay. I particularly did not like this book because I just wish it would all go together instead of being jumbled around. The humor was different unlike anything that I have read before. This is my first book from David and it will be my last. I do not like the style that he writes in, and I am sure if any of his books are like this one then I will not recommend them to anyone. Some people may like this style of writing and this type of humor but I did not like it. If this book was not required for my class I probably would have walked passed it a million times in the book store not even looking down at it. However, now that I have read the book and tried to understand what he was saying exactly I probably will never read this book again. One thing I wish the book had more of was a purpose and a flow. If this was one whole story, like most books are, I probably would have enjoyed it more, but since it was scattered and all the chapters were different I just got lost and confused. I would not recommend this book to anyone unless I think they might like a book like this or have that sense of humor that Sedaris has.
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Posted May 12, 2013
Hysterical & undoubtedly witty.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Anonymous
Posted May 12, 2013
Me talk Pretty One Day is the first book I read from the author David Sedaris. When I first looked at the title of the book, I was wondering what the hell this book is about. Looking at the front and the back cover of the book, I realized he is a number one national bestseller and the comments are quite positive. David Sedaris have written four books. Because of the comments and a professor recommendation, I decided to read this book.
In this book, most of it is about his life from childhood to adult and how he became a real man. Stories contain his family, siblings, pets, works, his boyfriend Hugh and the life in France. He used jokes to cover sensitive topics including sexuality, homosexual, races and toilet jokes. David and his boyfriend Hugh have a deep relationship. Originally both of them are living together in New York, then one day they decided to move on and moved to France. Without knowing any French, David can not do many activities in France. Wondering and panicking in France, David chose to learn French. Starting from that time, he knew that learning another language is a difficult challenge. David suggested that every one of us should try to learn a second language in our life time. At the time he was studying French, he found obstacles and challenges. One of the chapters in the book was called “Me talk Pretty One Day.” I guess this is why the book title is called “Me talk Pretty One Day” because learning another language needs a lot of effort and time. His ideal goal is that he will talk pretty in French someday. When he was fluent in French, he started to discover more about French people.
Hugh and David eat, live and even sleep together. They have gone through many things. I found an interesting thing was both of them talking an IQ test at the same time. The result was that Hugh scored a higher IQ score than David. What we can imply is that David needed Hugh more than the way around.
Although David made a lot of humor in this book and many of us thought funny, but for me I did not think this book is that funny. Maybe it is due to my understanding of English and my age, I can laugh only a little portion of it. In the book, sometimes he will present dirty and disgusting things through text. But as a reader, I appreciate what he wrote. This is my personal point of view. If I have to rate the book, I will give it a three stars.
Anonymous
Posted May 12, 2013
This is the first David Sedaris book I've read; my thoughts of Me Talk Pretty One Day were interesting. I have never read a book like this before in my life. Sedaris is a talented writer; he has good sentence structure and uses creative analogies to bring across his humor. Although I am impressed by his ability to be funny in writing, I thought some part of the book was out of place. In the beginning, this was a guy who tried to construct a vocabulary without using the letter "s" so that he could mask his lisp. As a child, he hilariously tells us, his midget guitar teacher had a voice like a recording played back too fast and he taught his students to love their guitars by suggesting they imagine them as a "stacked" woman. David Sedaris takes his personal experiences and compiles them into a hilarious novel. E ach story is about something noteworthy that has taken place. The chapter begins on page 142, where David Sedaris writes about his dislike for computers, and all modern technology. The following story tells about how he met his partner and about his new home France. After getting together with his partner Hugh, Sedaris moves to France with Hugh, who lives there most of year. Mostly everything Sedaris does revolve around France and Hugh throughout the rest of the story. Some of these things include Sedaris trying to learn French, and Sedaris's relationship with his friends and family. The next story is titled Jesus Shaves. This deals with Sedaris's opinions on religion. He questions why things such as why a rabbit was chosen to be the symbol of Easter. The following two chapters deal with his troubles of learning to speak French. One struggle was his inability of learning the correct verb endings. When he would purchase groceries he would always buy more than necessary in order to hide his embarrassment of not being able to understand the plurals of French words. The pages of 138-200 deal with his struggles. David Sedaris trawls through his life and up-bringing to deliver hilarious observations and stories, describing failures, foibles and more failures in minute detail. He has an eye for the little things, the tiny events and ironies that make up this cruel world, and a knack of abstracting ad absurdity. He paints a very self-deprecating, lovingly shambolic picture of himself through his writings, and it's the real identification with his character that causes you to laugh when he laughs and laugh when he cries. My favorite story is called "Big Boy" and details his attempts to use the bathroom at a garden party. David tells about his experiences in France and of his family, where my favorite essay comes into mind. He tells about his lovely brother in the story titled You Can't Kill the Rooster. Me talk pretty one day actually pretty easy to read. I liked how Sedaris did not use big fancy words to impress the reader with a view. Even though his stories can get very strange, Sedaris does a very good job in painting a picture in readers' minds of what is going on in his life. The part of the book I enjoyed most was his childhood life. His odd interpretation of the world was very interesting and also hilarious. I recommend this book to anyone who is open minded about life. This book is amusing and makes you appreciate YOUR LIFE! When you read this book, you just compare your life with Sedaris's and you will thank God you're not David Sedaris Me Talk Pretty One Day is highly recommend for those who need a good laugh and want the pleasure of knee-slapping humor and somewhat appalling stories that you could never believe to be true. If you want to do yourself a favor by adding some laughter into your life, pick up a copy of Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. Overall the book leaves me not with a better understanding of the author, and seeing his point of view.
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Posted May 11, 2013
I must have a bad taste of humor because I'm reading peoples reviews on how much they love this book, while I'm sitting here like, “how?!" He has a creative mind though. A lot of imaginations in his stories make you think real hard about what the heck he is talking about. This book basically explains the events that he holds close to him. A lot of these events would include him having a lisp as a child, having a little brother who swears left and right, his sexuality, his partner Hugh, drugs and school, his move to France, etc. This book has a lot of disturbing and immature scenes as well. One example that could describe disturbing and immature would be when he was at a party and he had to use the restroom and someone left him a clogged toilet. You would think as a grown man he would have asked for a plunger. But no, instead he uses his hands to scoop out the feces because he is scared that people will judge him for clogging the toilet. If you like to read authors past events in a book, then this is the book for you. There was no moral to this book. There was a lot of dry humor and a good hand full of funny content, but that is probably just me.
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Posted May 9, 2013
I did not care for this book, I find his humor dumb and dry. It was not humorous and I would not have read it if it weren't for it being a requirement in my reading class. I would also not recommend this book to anyone unless they want to be bored out of there minds. I would have to say my least favorite part of the book was about the toilet. He is disgusting. In fact his whole family is. A little preview of the book would be he is gay, lives with a lot of family, one of which is called The Rooster. He mentions his obsession with feces and how much drugs have messed up his life.
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Posted April 26, 2013
My name is Hagar Assi
David Sedaris’s memoir was quite an interesting peice to read. The delivery was outstanding and especially the process of self development we saw from the main character. The narriator did an excellent job of expressing to the reader their feelings and emotions. Through each phase in Davids life, the reader was able to feel Davids emotions and thoughts as he pushed through his struggles as a gay man living in an American society. His self discovery becomes quite obvious from the beginning when the narriator expresses his odd taste in interests. To the typical american society we find it very odd that a young boy would not find interest in sports or “manly activities”. After the reader is exposed to these thoughts, they are able to see David’s self inquiry a lot clearer.
As for plot structure, the same applies. Each place we see david in through out this book is very well developed and offers us a visual of what his life might be like. Each stage in his life is very evident almost like they are steps in a staircase. He starts off as a young boy in North Carolina, forced to tak speech classes, and guitar lessons. Then he is moved onto a new stage in his life where he now is a teacher and must deal with the students he does not like. Next he moves to New York and attempts to tackle a life that he might have a future in. With no luck, he advances himself to France where he begins to find his true self and a comfortable habitat.
Next we have character building, the main character is very well developed for the reader but as for the other characters, not so much. To me it does not seem like such a dilemma because, the only character we actually read about is David. We do not need that much character development for anyone else. David on the other hand shows great character development for the narrator. We watch him transform from a young boy to a man living in france over a time period of only 20 years. Amazing!
I personally enjoyed reading this memoir very much. I have learned how to visually entertain my reader with details that would make the reader believe they were there watching my story like a movie. I like how in most memoirs the author is able to paint an eloquent picture with his brush of what the scene may look like through words. Hopefully in my writing I can do the same, by expressing what I see through the words. As for character development, I learned about taking my time to show each phase in a characters life. At the end of the day there should be no questions or concerns left about how the character survived through the story. I definitely believe this book should be offered again because it was a very humorous and descriptive memoir. It had great details, an interesting story and just enough humor to make the author laugh but not believe it was over done!
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