If you were writing a book specifically to target me, you might write a memoir woven into the journey of whales, because alongside tennis, taking off If you were writing a book specifically to target me, you might write a memoir woven into the journey of whales, because alongside tennis, taking off on an international flight and flowing conversation with friends, memoirs and whales* are some of my favorite things.
So, I stumble across this book in the charming Brewster Book Store on Cape Cod, and naturally I pick it up.
I thought I’d love it.
I did not love it.
I think maybe I was expecting Susan Casey after a few poetry classes? But instead it was a self-indulgent bore. Sigh.
And a note: authors, please don’t write in baby talk to demonstrate the speaker is a toddler. Barf.
For the 10,000th time, I really must get better at parting ways with a book that just isn’t doing it for me. I feel a sense of obligation to finish, to hear the author out, but lord. Sometimes it just isn’t meant to be.
*This is absolutely true — specifically orcas. I know this because when you have little kids, you get asked several times a week what your favorite animal is, and after some pondering, I realized it’s been orcas all along. My younger son once asked me what my favorite LAND animal is, and after rejecting my answer (“you and your brother”), he surmised it was “probably a dead orca.” ...more
I don’t know, man. I think TRJ may just not be my author, and that’s okay.
It’s fine. The book is fine. Coming from someone who plays tennis 7+ times I don’t know, man. I think TRJ may just not be my author, and that’s okay.
It’s fine. The book is fine. Coming from someone who plays tennis 7+ times a week, that’s not saying much. I predicted Carrie’s course from the French Open on, so shock and awe isn’t gonna hit hard on this one. Still, the story brought me from Atlanta to Tulum without requiring much brainpower, so it served its purpose.
NB: I’m not sure if I subconsciously included “hit hard” and “serve” here, but I’m just noticing what I’ve written. Sometimes I think I play too much tennis; then I think: where’s my racquet? ...more
If I were a book-quitter — which I should be, because life is short and to-read lists are long — I would have given up in the firstTragically boring.
If I were a book-quitter — which I should be, because life is short and to-read lists are long — I would have given up in the first chapter. Still, despite my concerns, I PERSISTED! This is Hannah Gadsby behind the page: surely it *must* get better.
It did not.
YMMV, of course, and based on the 4.5-star rating the book currently has, I may be standing on an island here.* There were moments, sure, including some heart-rending and poetic depictions of trauma, but they were nearly lost in the surrounding drudgery. Boo.
I thought Nanette (the show) was brilliant and important and chest-tighteningly vulnerable, so this is the rare occasion where I would direct someone to the screen rather than the page for the better experience.
*Not that I’d mind: after a long-ass summer filled with equal parts fun and fighting, the boys are back in school. Halle-fucking-lujah. I love them, *and* holy hell summer — particular summer in Charlotte “Hotter than the Surface of the Sun” North Carolina is too ...more
I’m a little unsure why no one seemed to have edited this book. Was there an editor? Like, actually? If there was, did that person understand their asI’m a little unsure why no one seemed to have edited this book. Was there an editor? Like, actually? If there was, did that person understand their assignment?
Sooo I guess I’ll step in, then, with some editorial thoughts:
More jokes do not equal more humor. Let the good ones stand; ruthlessly cut the rest. They don’t serve you or your words.
What works on a podcast doesn’t necessarily translate to a book. CC: truncating every other word, dropping deep-cut references, SHOUTING FOR EFFECT. Not saying we need to strive for formality here, but this read like a 300-page Instagram post.
Stay focused. Think: what are you really trying to say? Voices don’t need to fit in neat little boxes — political, activist, humor, observational — and I’d argue that taking a layered approach is more interesting and human. In this case, though, I don’t know *who* this book is for. There are certainly funnier authors out there, if you want humor. There are more effective agents of social change, if you want activism. What are you bringing to the table?
Edit, edit and edit some more. I counted multiple typos and instances of incorrect punctuation. Just no with that. She also presents an unproven/debated anecdote about cops after the killing of Ma’Khia Bryant as fact, which I found troubling. There are countless examples of police officers being terrible, racist humans, so it seems like she should have drawn from one of those to make her point, instead. We don’t need to give deniers of police brutality against Black people any fodder here. [Note: I had to edit this section because I initially misquoted the author the first go-round. The irony of this happening under my admonishment for better editing is not lost on me.]
I’m tempted to give this book a higher star-rating than I did to signal to fellow readers skimming past that yes, I did in fact take away much from DiI’m tempted to give this book a higher star-rating than I did to signal to fellow readers skimming past that yes, I did in fact take away much from DiAngelo’s book, and yes, I want to and try to be anti-racist (and hopefully sometimes even get it right). It’s an important read, and I don’t want a “meh” star-rating* to imply I’m not on board with the content.
That’s part of the problem, though, that I’m of course guilty of participating in: white people don’t know how to talk about race, so we get awkward and incoherent (at best), and we feel compelled to start the conversation with a monologue on how “not racist” we are. (Sort of like I did above.) I’m not a race educator, I don’t claim to have all (or any of) the answers and my job is to commit to learning and listening so I can do better. I appreciated DiAngelo’s guidance and wisdom.
The two big misses for me were that 1) the book read like a graduate thesis and 2) I’m not sure it sufficiently addressed the fact that white people, again, don’t have a clue how to speak about race. That’s our fault, exclusively, and it’s so indicative of our white fragility: we don’t know how to engage in these conversations, so we shut down and refuse to hear anything more on the subject. How do we prevent that from happening?
The answer can’t be “hold our hands and make it easy on us, because learning about racism is sooo hard for us!” But while I’m on board with DiAngelo’s approach — this is OUR doing, and we need to recognize it and fix it — I fear it self-selects the book’s audience to be white people already receptive to the idea of anti-racism. Those of us in that category need to hear the message, too, because a predisposition to anti-racism doesn’t mean we’re still not participants in a racist system, but what are we going to do to draw in the much larger population of people who would never read this book in the first place (“I’m NOT racist, and I treat everyone equally!”) or who read it and reject it because, ironically, of white fragility?
Don’t misunderstand me: ALL of us white people need to do better. It’ll take more than a handful of woke progressives to upheave the system, though, and books like WF make it easy for Karen and Becky to reject the premise entirely because it makes them uncomfortable. Maybe, though, if it breaks through to *enough* people and we use what we’ve learned to call out white supremacy, a new ideology will spread as we chip away at that wall of white protection. I tell my two boys all the time: you control YOU. That’s where I’ll start.
*Technically, though, two stars is “meh,” according to the Goodreads system. Three means “I liked it,” but sitting smack dab in the middle of the ratings options, three never feels *especially* laudatory.
UPDATE: Demoted. There are better resources out there than this. ...more
Generously, two stars. Had I rated before I had a glass of wine? One. Sober Katie dgaf about feelings, apparently, but Tipsy Katie is worried that theGenerously, two stars. Had I rated before I had a glass of wine? One. Sober Katie dgaf about feelings, apparently, but Tipsy Katie is worried that the author or someone the author loves will stumble upon this negative review and feel sad about it, which is ridiculous but nevertheless is what my brain grapples with. (Tipsy Katie possesses a certain vanity about her paltry Goodreads account, it seems.)
Anyway: to the meat. Re-reading the book synopsis above actually made me excited to read the book they describe. It’s undeniably got a killer blurb, but unfortunately it has little to do with the actual book, which is...disappointing. Turns out a good blurb doesn’t always translate to a compelling read. Here’s a small taste of why not:
CHARACTERS: Our protagonist, Wallace, inexplicably surrounds himself with the worst group of humans in the entire world, I guess because he met them early on in his studies? They’re racist and violent and hateful, and I’m simply not buying their interactions, like to the point that I’m not sure the author has ever had friends before. I certainly don’t need to like all the characters, but cartoonish villains have no place in lit-ra-cha.
DIALOGUE: Similarly, I’m not sure the author has ever engaged in human dialogue before, because none of this is how people talk. Truly, this book had some of the most bizarre, unnatural and pointless dialogue I’ve ever read, ever. Several times I felt called to dramatically perform a passage or two of these insipid, stunted exchanges for my husband as a form of Ironic Art. (He didn’t really appreciate my artistry, da fuq. ...more
I’m going to chalk this one up to Entertaining, But Not Good. In the World We Used to Know, that merits two Goodreads stars, but in Pandemic World, a I’m going to chalk this one up to Entertaining, But Not Good. In the World We Used to Know, that merits two Goodreads stars, but in Pandemic World, a bit of entertainment is all we really need, so: five million stars. I whiled away an unseasonably chilly morning finishing it — more out of lethargy than enthusiasm for the book — and the pages turned quickly, despite the plot (gimmicky or clever? The choice is yours!) and the flat characters.
I had hoped this would be as clever and character-driven as Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine or Where Did You Go, Bernadette?, but it never reached that level. The writing just felt a bit amateurish and simplistic, and I can’t stand a book that flouts the “show, don’t tell” rule of Writing 101.
All that said, this isn’t really my genre, so it’s probably unfair to read a book I’m not predisposed to like and then be like “meh, I didn’t like this book!” It’s like Yelpers who start their one-star review of a Chinese restaurant with “So I hate Chinese food...” But, here we are: I’ve read it, and I’ve reviewed it. Surely earning the superlative of “Great Diversion During a Pandemic!” is worth something, right?
It’s always disappointing when you’re excited to read something — in this case, a book that came with praises sung from two of my sisters: THANKS, y’aIt’s always disappointing when you’re excited to read something — in this case, a book that came with praises sung from two of my sisters: THANKS, y’all — and it just never strikes you in any meaningful way. No rhyme or reason to it — it was well written, astute, full of humanity — but it just didn’t...take.
Gottlieb is a talented writer, but I much, much, much preferred the patient stories to her own bits; the latter just felt like material that had been chewed over by so many countless other authors that it had lost its bite. I’m not here to rate pain, but I *am* here to rate books, and I didn’t think there was anything new that her Boyfriend story added to the love, loss and living conversation.
AND THEN: the final quarter of the book! Oh man — I’m glad I stuck with it (okay, with some skimming...) until then, because it was gorgeous. The beautiful, messy love coming out of her patients’ stories, the thoughtful insight on *meaning* — it literally stopped me in my tracks from skimming my way to the end. (PS: Bring tissues.)
It’s *also* disappointing when someone rates a book negatively in the midst of a freaking pandemic — maybe that’s why it felt difficult to muster concern over a breakup when the world is burning — so maybe I should place a giant asterisk next to this two-star rating: NOTE: Read during a time of worldwide calamity and crisis. Reviewer may be unreliable due to using up all her mental energy processing incomprehensible devastation and simultaneously homeschooling two small children. Lord, have mercy.
So basically, I don’t know if you should read this book. Glad I could be of assistance to you all. Cheers!...more
Swing Time started off so strong, which made its steady slope toward overstuffed mediocrity all the more unwelcome. The second half felt like a discomSwing Time started off so strong, which made its steady slope toward overstuffed mediocrity all the more unwelcome. The second half felt like a discombobulated scramble of Important Topics: race, gender, love, mothers, poverty, privilege, friendship, duty...basically, if it’s capital-I important, it’s crammed in there.
Perhaps it’s most telling that I didn’t realize, in some 450+ pages, that the narrator was never - not once! - named. That’s how engrossed I was in the story......more
In the beginning, there was Bossypants, and it was good. Then, eyeballs a-flicker with dollar signs, every book publisher scrambling for their next biIn the beginning, there was Bossypants, and it was good. Then, eyeballs a-flicker with dollar signs, every book publisher scrambling for their next big hit began searching for the next Tina, and just like that, a new genre was born: Memoirs Written by Female Comics. The recipe is as follows: one part career memoir; one part image-softening, relatable life story as a woman or mother; one part humanizing, character-building mistake, regret or transgression; a dash of the raunchy; and lots of humor since these people do get paid to make us laugh.
Don't misunderstand me; I'm not anti the genre - it's just that I now see through it, so I'm a little weary of it. It also doesn't help that I read Yes Please soon after finishing Lena Dunham's painful, horrendous book, so maybe I'm just still suffering emotionally from that whole situation.
Mizzzz Dunham aside, Poehler's book, as much as it saddens me to say it, was not everything I hoped it would be. Not surprisingly, she's an excellent writer, but some of the essays (or gratuitous humor within otherwise well-written essays) felt like floor scraps from the writers' room that never should have made it into production. I'm not sure I'm in a safe enough place mentally to discuss the beginning, but dear lord. Was her editor high? Then there were a few cases of little punchlines or aside quips that fell flat on the page - as though without her bringing them to life physically for us, they just were DOA.
Still, those flaws can be overlooked by the brilliance she pulls off routinely throughout the book - and interestingly, I didn't always think the humor and/or show biz essays were the best. Yes, it's fun to hear about her work on SNL and Parks and Rec and to hear firsthand stories of people I would like to marry, like Tina Fey and Seth Meyers, but I was more drawn to her writing about children, both hers and the ones she's met through her volunteer work.
Poehler's essays on her own children were so sincere and true - from the legitimately LOL-inducing story of her first son's birth to her sweet memory of taking naps together in the Nantucket breeze to the way she described her son as smelling like a "love cookie" (yesssss!!!) - that I teared up. In her personal life, Poehler is a huge advocate for girls (she has her own organization that encourages girls to "change the world by being themselves" called Smart Girls at the Party), and in her essays about high school and Haiti, you can feel how strongly she wishes for every child to grow up knowing safety and love. It's in her chapter about Haiti that she writes one of my favorite things about having (or loving) children ever:
When your children arrive, the best you can hope for is that they break open everything about you. Your mind floods with oxygen. Your heart becomes a room with wide-open windows. You laugh hard every day. You think about the future and read about global warming. You realize how nice it feels to care about someone more than yourself. And gradually, through this heart-heavy openness and these fresh eyes, you start to see the world a little more."
Maybe the reason I feel a little unsatisfied by this book is because I was so impressed by the more honest stuff that the "and here's my story about fame and fortune, and here's a joke, ba-dum-dum!" just didn't rock me the same way.
That said, had the book eschewed humor entirely, we wouldn't have the sentence "Moms and dads would patiently recite every item on the menu to their squirming five-year-olds, as if the many flavors of ice cream represented all the unique ways they were loved," and we'd all be a little worse off. ...more
So I didn't loooove this book, but I was still surprised by the universal panning of it on Goodreads. It's funny, peoples! It's also largely satiricalSo I didn't loooove this book, but I was still surprised by the universal panning of it on Goodreads. It's funny, peoples! It's also largely satirical, which is an under-appreciated art these days - in the written form, at least - and all too easily can be overlooked. So take out your satirical reading lenses and enjoy the following samples of Frazier's acerbic humor, as told through the voice of a burnt-out stay-at-home mother of two:
"Larry hopped out of bed before dawn and disappeared down in the basement, and I had the luxury of just lying there with the whole bed to myself and thinking about people I despised." p.59
"One very important key to maintaining our daily sanity is a simple scheduling tactic I call Putting Things the Hell Off. Today I am Putting the Hell Off Cleaning the Fucking Refrigerator, and the reason is simple: I just don't fucking feel like it. Looking at my calendar I see a whole raft of blank days during the rest of my life that I can devote to this stupid task, when perhaps I will be in more of a refrigerator-cleaning frame of mind." p.174
"Trevor has such an imagination and I hated to interrupt his creative processes, knowing how important this kind of play is to a child's development, but really he was driving me out of my fucking mind...." p.202
"Margaret and I agreed that it is somewhat harder to relax with a drink when the kids are home or when you know you might have to hop in the car without warning and chauffeur them somwhere. I feel this is an invasion of my personal space...." p.222
It's basically a book of that, so you can use the above to determine if this book is your kind of thing or not.
Still, despite some wickedly funny moments, I couldn't give the book more than three stars. Some of my first notes in this book were about how sad it made me when she closes with "Oh, what a fucking horrible day this has been," which happens about every third entry. Cursing Mommy is weary of her husband, her kids, her life - which makes me, as a stay-at-home mom (and one with a tendency to swear like a sailor, though I'm working on that), wonder what he's satirizing. Is Frazier saying Cursing Mommy has too much time on her hands to hate on things and should go find herself a job? Or maybe that part's not meant to be satirical? Complex literary styles can be so confusing, I tell you!
Oh, and an obvious disclaimer: Don't read this book if you're afraid of seeing Bad Words. There are many of them, as the title may indicate. ...more
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