Wednesday, October 11, 2006
To David Sedaris last night. There have been times when we've seen him that tears have come to my eyes from laughing so hard. He was funny this time, but in a more comfortable, familiar way. We have reached the point with David Sedaris where it feels like he's an old pal-- and he is a real mensch. It's all one way, of course, and if we were at a party together it would be odd, because we know all about him, and are the voices in the dark to him. Actually that's not quite true-- one of the things that he does that makes his reading so personal is that at the end he has the lights brought up, and he talks a little bit, then takes questions.
He read the piece about the parrot and the Pot Bellied Pig, and something that had been in The New Yorker about Mrs. Peacock. A work in progress about being a reporter writing a story about a city mortuary (he said it had gone over well in Edinburgh, but that it needed more work)and then a lovely thing called "All the Beauty You'll Ever Need". The last was a good example of the sort of thing he does best: it started out as a peevish complaint about some minor inconvenience about living in France, then meandered into an observation or an anecdote about his boyfriend, Hugh, then took a turn into a reminiscence about something or other that shaped up into an opportunity to make an observation about relationships, then ended with a punchline that was romantic and self-deprecating, and sweet.
He read something from his journal, that he'd copied from the London Observer's Sunday Magazine, ("Jar of Vaseline, $4; Box of Condoms, $14; 3 gay porn magazines, $35. Convincing your parents your brother is gay-- priceless"), then talked a little about why he liked visiting Japan and recommended "Is There No Place On Earth For Me?" by Susan Sheehan -- the book he is encouraging people to read. He was funny about it: he said it was moving and beautifully written, but also good because the schizophrenic woman who is the book's focus "is so mean to her parents". "She was about 5'4" and got up to about 280 pounds," he said, "So if you want a book about a mean, crazy fat person, this is the book for you."
Sedaris really works at this-- maybe he's a diva in everyday life, but at these readings he signs books at the beginning until they tear him away; then at the end he signs until everyone who wants to has met him. And he doesn't just sign: he chats, and he writes personal messages. It's funny, in a way, that more writers don't go out and work like this, but maybe it is harder than it seems, and maybe his ability to do this is his particular talent.
He read the piece about the parrot and the Pot Bellied Pig, and something that had been in The New Yorker about Mrs. Peacock. A work in progress about being a reporter writing a story about a city mortuary (he said it had gone over well in Edinburgh, but that it needed more work)and then a lovely thing called "All the Beauty You'll Ever Need". The last was a good example of the sort of thing he does best: it started out as a peevish complaint about some minor inconvenience about living in France, then meandered into an observation or an anecdote about his boyfriend, Hugh, then took a turn into a reminiscence about something or other that shaped up into an opportunity to make an observation about relationships, then ended with a punchline that was romantic and self-deprecating, and sweet.
He read something from his journal, that he'd copied from the London Observer's Sunday Magazine, ("Jar of Vaseline, $4; Box of Condoms, $14; 3 gay porn magazines, $35. Convincing your parents your brother is gay-- priceless"), then talked a little about why he liked visiting Japan and recommended "Is There No Place On Earth For Me?" by Susan Sheehan -- the book he is encouraging people to read. He was funny about it: he said it was moving and beautifully written, but also good because the schizophrenic woman who is the book's focus "is so mean to her parents". "She was about 5'4" and got up to about 280 pounds," he said, "So if you want a book about a mean, crazy fat person, this is the book for you."
Sedaris really works at this-- maybe he's a diva in everyday life, but at these readings he signs books at the beginning until they tear him away; then at the end he signs until everyone who wants to has met him. And he doesn't just sign: he chats, and he writes personal messages. It's funny, in a way, that more writers don't go out and work like this, but maybe it is harder than it seems, and maybe his ability to do this is his particular talent.
// posted by Bill @ 9:42 AM 
Post a Comment