I should probably write to David Sedaris and thank him for making me his new official publicist. It is not exactly official, but I think it may as well be.
It seems my keen readers ears are not as good as my keen readers eyes because despite his success and regular presence on bestseller lists I can only remember catching references to Sedaris' work a handful of times. Once in the car a radio interview was being conducted with Sedaris but this was ages ago, possibly years. But I still remember the instanteous smile he put on my face when he spoke about how his soft lilting voice is often mistaken to be female when talking on the phone.
Strangely enough I have seen his book 'Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk' on the shelves of many Italian book shops in the english section. I always gave it a tentative look, not quite sure why it was ringing a bell...'that funny guy I once heard of maybe, probably wrote it..might be a good book...but this is all too vague for me to make an informed decision...'
I finally gathered the momentum to buy 'Dress Your Family in Cuduroy and Denim' when I was in London a few weeks ago The purchase came about during a moment of extreme vulnerability.
My day began in Bloomsbury, the purpose was to visit the Britsh Museum but the experience proved to be somewhat anti-climactic. I have heard for so many years about how amazing it is that this became a case where the reality was left with no choice but to wilt in comparison to the imaginings. The journey around the gigantuan building had a checklist feel about it, because to my surprise there were no surprises! Everything I had been told was there....the Pantheon Marbles, the sensational Egyptian collection, etc,...as I encountered each item I had been told to look out for, my attempts to engage with it were thwarted by the apearance of a mental Tick symbol, comically large and green, lighting up with a ping noise. Maybe these items I had busted my gut studying at high school were triggering some negative mood associations... Maybe I was just very tired that day.
After the museum I resumed my second favourite activity in foreign countries, eating. With the first being spending money, I am a dangerous commodity. Mostly to myself. While I munched away on Pret A Manger yoghurt and museli I flipped through my guide book only to realise that Bloomsbury did not hold as much interest as I had predicted the night before.
I became annoyingly indecisive, umm-ing and ahh-ing about everything my little Travel London book suggested. By the time I decided to visit the Charles Dickens Museum and had actually managed to find it, it was late afternoon. Soon things would be shutting. I was wasting my day...
After I then quite illogically decided to get to the Borough Markets, which involved a long bus trip followed by an even longer walk due to me getting off two stops early. Once I got there though I was a very happy camper. I would go back to the markets another two times before the end of my trip. I tucked into a delicious piece of Banoffee pie, feeling so incredibly British in a Love-Actually-wannabee-Keira-knightley sort of way. I hoped maybe with the success of the markets I had made ammends with my indecision.
It was only once I was heading over London Bridge, feeling wonderful and Bridget-Jonsey, that I realised with a jolt that 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower' was no longer lodged under my arm. I had borrowed the copy from my cousin's book shelf that morning and been reading it throughout the day. I only had one chapter left.
As is typical of me I went into full panic mode. If my house was to burn down I can honestly promise to be uber calm throughout the occasion, taking charge, giving orders even making tea for distressed passersby. If however something relatively minor happens on the scale of life and death, such as losing a coat, forgetting an appointment...I am inconsolable. If I lose an item belonging to someone else I seriously contemplate running away to Cuba. I filed a lost property report for the book at the markets reception with the desperation of a mother who has lost a child in a crowd and moped my way back across the bridge, now feeling like Bridget but in all the bad ways.
After making it halfway on foot to the tower of london and realising that it was 4pm and it would be closed. So I backtracked and made my way through cheapside, feeling Elizabeth-Bennetty, to St. Pauls Cathedral. I stopped along the way in a few shops, taking my time. I was just leaving a shopping complex when the cathedral came into full view. I reached for my camera in my bag...my hand rummaged around, finding lipglosses, bus tickets, a hair brush, water bottle, coin purses...no camera. My breathing became rapid and I muttered 'stay calm, stay calm, stay calm' like an incantation. I emptied my bag straight onto the pavement as shoppers stared.
I slumped against a glass wall, all my belongings spread around me... everything except for my camera. My camera with a 32 gigabyte SD card containing 4 months worth of travel photos.
A female police cyclist passing by with her bike noticed me and when we made eye contact there must have been something very pathetic about my face because she came right over and bent down next to me.
"Hello dear, is everything ok?"
My bottom lip literally wobbled and I started bawling like a child. I told her the whole tale in hysterical blubberings, starting from the point when I lost my cousin's book. She was so nice throughout my ranting. So sympathetic, nodding knowingly, a kind grimace of solidarity here and there...she even told me a story about how she recently lost an important set of keys and how angry she was with herself. She then asked me my name and told me her's was Elise. She took down all the details of what happened and gave me the number of the station she worked at so I could call in to see if the camera had been found and handed in. She encouraged me to retrace my steps in the meantime.
"But Elise, is there even any point?!" I groaned, fed up with the cruel, cruel world, aka my own chronic absentmindedness. She told me it wouldn't hurt.
I thanked her profusely and followed her advice. All I can say is thank god I did because I had only left my camera on the counter of the most recent shop I had been in. The sales assisstant 'aww-ed' when I was clasped the camera to my breast and I cried sloppy completely indulgent tears of relief, disturbing londoners trying to buy stationery. I headed onwards to St. Pauls, still relieved and weepy when I ran into Elise again! She was on her bike and told me she was been circling around hoping to see me and ask if I had had any luck. She was so happy for me I had found my camera and in that moment I really just wanted to hug her. I thanked her again a hundred times, not only for her help but for her understanding.
It was at the end of this day, of highs and lows, that I decided I needed only one thing to calm me down and that was to buy a good book. I took a bus to Angel Islington and quickly found a discount book supplier. I bought another copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower to replace the one I went and lost on my cousin, and then perused the shelves for something that would cheer me up and make me laugh. That's when I found 'Dress Your Family'. It wasn't as cheap as I would have liked, but oh man, was it worth every cent.
It was on the bus back to my cousin's house in East London as I started reading that my new voluntary work as David Sedaris' publicist began. Since then I have laughed on buses, planes, trains; in baths, kitchens, beds, cafes, and parks. Once I had laughed my way through 'Dress Your Family In Curduroy and Denim' I scoured the Oxfams of London for more second-hand Sedaris books, finding 'Me Talk Pretty One Day,' 'When You Are Engulfed In Flames' and 'Barrell Fever,' so I could laugh my way through those.
I feel my greatest publicist work for Sedaris happened on the public transport system of London. I was on the double-decker bus heading to Oxford Circus and basically busting my lungs trying not to cry with laughter as I read 'Dress Your Family'. I was so immersed in Sedaris' hilarious piece on cultural differences called 'Six to Eight Black Men' that I jumped when the lady sitting in front of me said 'Excuse me?' I immediately assumed she was going to ask me to shut up or had mistaken my laughter for crying. But instead with eagerness she asked me what I was reading. She was so curious about what could make me laugh so much she just had to know! With relief and surprise I handed her the book so she could read the blurb, and praised it to high heaven. She thanked me saying she had been looking for a funny book to read and immediately began downloading it on her kobo.
My second publicity stunt occured when heading to Borough Markets on the underground tube. I didn't have a seat in the packed carriage but didn't mind because Sedaris once again was making me laugh myself silly. So silly I suspected that in that moment for all the Londoners sharing my carriage I was the 'typical loon' on their train that day. I read with the book held high over my face like a mask to hide my silent giggling but my shoulders which remained exposed still shook with laughter. Just before my stop I lowered my book to find the middle-aged couple standing opposite starring and smiling at me. 'Good book then??' the man asked, genuinely interested. I chuckled and told him was it ever! They laughed, asked to see the cover which I obliged and said they would look out for it, wishing me a very nice day as I stepped out of the carriage onto the platform.
Since London I have continued reading Sedaris in Italy. I am older and wiser now though, aware that if I read this one as quickly as I did the others then very soon I will finish it and the addictive joy will be over. I am still in the last chapter now of 'When You Are Engulfed In Flames' which I started three weeks ago and still preaching the virtues of his attractive self-deprecation, dazzling observation skills and the delicious way he handles irony.
Sure Sedaris isn't exactly up with the times, he is in fact quite a dork. So if you are looking for the musings of someone you can relate to by age and interest this is maybe not for you. But this is also what I like about Sedaris, he never proclaimed to be cool. His honesty about his own sexuality and oddballness, his hilarious portraits of his quirky family and friends, the wonderful one-line observations about the world, and his ability to always to wrap up his stories with an elegant bow, drawing the important facts together to make a satisfying final message, in my opinion makes him a very entertaining and neat writer.
So everyone go and read Sedaris now, particulary if you are in need of a good career change.
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