This was another potential book club book, and another discussion I probably won’t join. What is it about David Sedaris that just turns me off so much? Or maybe the question should be–what is it about David Sedaris that everyone else loves so much?


I always think I’m going to like his books, and then I just come away with such a bad taste in my mouth.

When you start reading one of his stories, they are perfectly normal. Sure, they have that kind of sienna 1960’s haze over them. Everything is kind of a goldenrod-brown color, and everyone is drunk. They have to be, right? I start to get the feeling, as I’m reading, that David is that guy in your favorite bar, who is just this side of wasted, who you know has one hell of a story to tell. But, instead of telling THAT story, he tells just about aaaaaaaany other story he thinks you MIGHT believe….just so he can avoid telling the one he really doesn’t want to let out.

Surely these stories have to be fantastical. Maybe that’s why they are so popular. Because none of us are twisted enough to go hitchhiking down the highway with a quadriplegic and steal from everyone. But, it just sounds plausible enough to work in an independent film type of way.

I don’t know. I don’t really buy any of them. I think he’s like a comedian, who has had one or two funny things happen, and then has enough talent to expand upon the weirdness and play to his audience. I wouldn’t necessarily trust this to be true nonfiction. But hey, if he can sell books, all the power to him.

What do you think about Sedaris’ “memoirs?”

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