Calypso by David Sedaris: A review

David Sedaris is a misanthrope and I'm okay with that; I am sympathetic to the impulse.

At the same time, Sedaris is fascinated by people even as he is repelled by them. They are, after all, the stuff out of which he has constructed his living. His stories of his interactions with quirky people, many of them members of his own family, have now filled the pages of nine essay collections and made him a very wealthy man.

Sedaris is a master at making us laugh out loud at some of the crazy antics he and his family get up to, as well as his interactions with people that he meets at his book signings and on publicity tours around the country and the world. He does it again in Calypso. My daughter and I listened to the book, narrated by the author, on our recent road trip and at times we laughed out loud until tears rolled down our cheeks. But this book also contains some poignant tales, particularly those featuring his mother, who died of cancer, and his sister, Tiffany, who committed suicide.

One anecdote regarding Tiffany is especially filled with regret and guilt. Sedaris tells of a time, during which he was estranged from his sister and was not speaking to her, when she came to the backstage door of the theater where he was performing and wanted to talk to him. He had the security guard shut the door in her face. He never saw or spoke to his sister again.

He relates stories about his mother's alcoholism and regrets the fact that no one in the family ever confronted her about it.

He also tells an anecdote about his family in 1968, only recently moved to North Carolina. They were all having a meal at a restaurant when over the public address system came the announcement that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot and killed in Memphis. Everyone in the restaurant except the Sedarises cheered. It reminded me of the assassination of President John Kennedy when people around me (in Northeast Mississippi) were elated and excited. I was devastated.

And then there is his incredulous recollection of the election of 2016 and how the country has been transformed since then.

But I don't want to give you the wrong impression. Most of the essays in this book are funny and they will make you smile, sometimes wryly, and occasionally the smiles will turn into guffaws.

One of my favorite essays in the collection was his story about his Fitbit. As one who also wears a Fitbit, I could fully relate to the obsessive behavior it can engender. Sedaris started out trying to reach modest step goals, but soon his goals increased by factors of six and seven and he was going for 65,000 steps a day. Then he got an Apple watch to go with his Fitbit and wore them both because you can never have too much information about the number of steps you take!

Sedaris is 61 years old now and perhaps the more reflective tone of this collection is related to his time of life. He shares his life freely with us, even the less than savory parts. His life is divided into three parts: his home in Sussex, England that he shares with his husband Hugh and occasional visitors; his vacation home on Emerald Isle, North Carolina that he shares with Hugh, his elderly father, his siblings, and extended family; and his life on the road where he meets the most highly unlikely people. Sedaris the misanthrope is always surrounded by people.

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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