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Bound With These Titles
On Order
Summary
Summary
David Sedaris returns with his most deeply personal and darkly hilarious book.
If you've ever laughed your way through David Sedaris's cheerfully misanthropic stories, you might think you know what you're getting with Calypso. You'd be wrong.
When he buys a beach house on the Carolina coast, Sedaris envisions long, relaxing vacations spent playing board games and lounging in the sun with those he loves most. And life at the Sea Section, as he names the vacation home, is exactly as idyllic as he imagined, except for one tiny, vexing realization: it's impossible to take a vacation from yourself.
With Calypso, Sedaris sets his formidable powers of observation toward middle age and mortality. Make no mistake: these stories are very, very funny--it's a book that can make you laugh 'til you snort, the way only family can. Sedaris's powers of observation have never been sharper, and his ability to shock readers into laughter unparalleled. But much of the comedy here is born out of that vertiginous moment when your own body betrays you and you realize that the story of your life is made up of more past than future.
This is beach reading for people who detest beaches, required reading for those who loathe small talk and love a good tumor joke. Calypso is simultaneously Sedaris's darkest and warmest book yet--and it just might be his very best.
Author Notes
David Sedaris was born in Binghamton, New York on December 26, 1956, but he grew up in Raleigh, North Carolina. Much of Sedaris' humor is autobiographical and self-deprecating, and it often concerns his family life, his middle class upbringing in the suburbs of North Carolina. He graduated from the Art Institute of Chicago in 1987. He is a popular radio commentator, essayist, and short story writer. He held many part-time and odd jobs before getting a job reading excerpts from his diaries on National Public Radio in 1992.
His first collection of essays and short stories, Barrel Fever, was published in 1994. His other works include Naked, Holidays on Ice, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary, Theft by Finding: Diaries (1977-2002), and Calypso. Me Talk Pretty One Day won the Thurber Prize for American Humor in 2001. He has also written several plays with his sister Amy Sedaris including Stump the Host, Stitches, and The Little Frieda Mysteries. In 2014 her title, Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls, made The New York Times Best Seller List.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (6)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Humorist Sedaris (Theft by Finding) collects 21 essays largely about family bonds and getting older in this hilarious yet tender volume. Facing middle age, the author purchased a beach house, which he named Sea Section, in his childhood state of North Carolina. The beach abode serves not only its intended purpose as a perfect location for family gatherings, but also ends up being a venue for arguments, jokes, and encountering local wildlife (in particular, a snapping turtle to whom Sedaris joked he'd feed a benign fatty tumor Sedaris had formed). Sedaris's mother died of cancer in 1991 at the age of 62, but his conservative, 92-year-old father (with whom he has a difficult relationship), three sisters (a fourth committed suicide), and younger brother are frequent visitors and fodder for Sedaris's perceptive and imaginative sense of humor; no subject seems too sacred for his wit, including his sister's suicide ("I've always liked to think that before killing myself I'd take the time to really mess with people") and the physical attractiveness of Jesus. He also riffs on topics ranging from the inane conversations people have at shops, airports, and hotels ("You're a long way from home, aren't you?" one bellman comments) to the nasty expletives drivers scream from cars. Throughout, Sedaris reveals a deep loyalty to family, with loving reminiscences of his mother, a palpable wish to be closer to his father, and a nostalgic devotion to his siblings and their shared memories. The author's fans and newcomers alike will be richly rewarded by this sidesplitting collection. (May) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
Sedaris spends a good part of every year speaking all over the world; it's no wonder, then, that many of the personal essays in this new collection (his first since Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls, 2013, though he released the first volume of his diaries last year) consider air travel and his fellow passengers. Such constant movement, on tour or between his cottage in West Sussex and his home on North Carolina's Emerald Isle, provides plenty of fodder for him to rage against small talk but not without suggestions for its improvement. Sedaris' family and upbringing have long been mainstays in his work, but this collection encompasses perhaps his most tender writing on the subjects yet. His sister Tiffany's recent suicide looms over family get-togethers, and his parents, his mother long passed and his father still hale in his nineties, receive ample page-time, too. For readers concerned that Sedaris has become too reverent, there's also an episode in which he seeks connection with a tortoise via hilariously head-scratching means. Readers may think they know what to expect from Sedaris; they'll be both surprised and delighted. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: There will be major fanfare, including a four-month tour, for Sedaris' first new collection in five years. Order up!--Bostrom, Annie Copyright 2018 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
STRAIGHT AWAY, I think it is in the common interests of transparency and full disclosure to tell you that over the last few weeks since I - and I fear this is no coincidence! - began reading the book that is the subject of this review, there has been a gradual, yet very distinct, change in my outlook, demeanor and even my worldview. My life has assumed an overreaching hue that can be described only, and I do mean be described only as, well, Sedarían. It first came to my attention in the Aspire Lounge of the Edinburgh airport, which, I assume, is so named because there is a relatively short window between when you have entered it and when you aspire to leave. "Porridge is available on request" declared a sign next to the sausages. My U.S./U.K. power adapter was one of those annoying ones that have a protruding ridge, so the only way my computer charger would remain in the socket was to wedge my copy of "Calypso" between my chair and said socket, ensuring my laptop didn't die but forcing me to restrict my movements to all but the most legato typing. My husband had fallen asleep next to me, and I worried that if his head lolled even a few centimeters he might scupper the entire perilous sys- tem - yet waking him to warn him might result in the exact same outcome. What would David Sedaris do? I thought. I was trapped, I realized, on the inside of a mask once worn by the man himself. I felt his potency. It was palpable. He seriously could start a cult. It would be a total hoot. Not for everyone, true - but I'm in. It's not like there weren't warning signs: That morning as I drove to the airport I listened to BBC Radio Scotland and nearly drove off the road laughing at a new campaign to encourage people to learn CPR by using the Proclaimers song "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)." "And I will press 500 times / And I will press 500 more / Just to be the one to save you / Till the ambulance comes to your door," declared Carol Smillie, a TV host long beloved by my people. It seemed that this entrancing collection of essays, and my fascination with its author, had sucked me into some nerdy netherworld where real life becomes weirder and funnier and darker and bleaker than, well, real life. I have come to the conclusion that David Sedaris is not just some geeky Samuel Pepys, as I had assumed all these years. True, he may shed a revelatory light on the more extreme facets of our societal spectrum through his bizarre and pithy prism. Yes, his worldview - a fascinating hybrid of the curious, cranky and kooky - does indeed hold a mirror up to nature and show us as others see us. But make no mistake: He is not the Fool, he is Lear. West Sussex in England and Emerald Isle in North Carolina are his kingdoms. Amy, Gretchen, Lisa, Paul and the tragic Tiffany are his royal siblings, ever shifting in their allegiances and presence in one another's lives. Lou is his father, once so distant and scornful of his fragile son, now softer and benign, proffering unwanted gifts that Sedaris has learned are easier for all concerned to accept with grace. The family home in Raleigh was once presided over with gusto by Sharon, the Sedaris matriarch. Her death from cancer hangs over these pages like a long-ago exhaled puff of a Winston. Like the plot of nearly every decent Disney movie, the young Sedaris princes and princesses were sent out into the scary grown-up world motherless and rudderless but buoyed by her magnificent spirit. Sharon had developed slowly into a messy alcoholic. It took her kids many years to realize this about the woman they all adored, who nightly would clutch the kitchen counter to steady herself as she launched into one of her hilarious and biting rants. I got them laughing was both her mantra and catchphrase, yet none of those truly loving children could ever bring themselves to challenge her about it, let alone help her. And, alas, their silence did not protect her. This failure, this regret and, actually, this neglect is haunting to the point of being unbearable, yet Sedaris's brash and raw eloquence allows us to never linger too long in the darkness. He doesn't just bring gallows humor, he brings gallows rimshot. This book allows us to observe not just the nimble-mouthed elf of his previous work, but a man in his seventh decade expunging his darker secrets and contemplating mortality. "Calypso" chronicles his latest attempts to come to terms with the slings and arrows of truly outrageous fortune that life has flung at him. For Lear the storm is the central metaphor: the elemental storm, the societal storm he has engendered and the internal storm as he struggles with pride, age and looming madness. For Sedaris a snapping turtle with a partly missing foot and a tumor on its head becomes an unlikely leitmotif. He encounters the turtle in a canal on Emerald Isle, and a semiotic friendship begins. Well, perhaps not a friendship, but certainly a one-sided appreciation. Not only does the author visit the turtle to feed it scraps like some novice apostle leaving sacrifices for his deity, but when he himself finds a tumor on his tummy, one of the harmless fatty ones that nonetheless grow to the size and consistency of a hard-boiled egg, he decides to have it removed and take it back to the island to feed it to his turtle friend - both the ultimate act of devotion and the creation of a new literary genre -.tumor humor. Initially at least, these plans are foiled by his surgeon. "It's against federal law for me to give you anything I've removed from your body," he tells the author, who promptly flees the scene, tumor intact. A less staunch man might have abandoned his plan there and then, but Sedaris perseveres and eventually finds a lovely Mexican lesbian who offers to perform the surgical deed after he tells the story of his first, failed attempt to feed the turtle his lump during a book reading in El Paso. The woman - her pseudonym is Ada - sends the tumor to his sister Lisa, who keeps it in her freezer until the next time the Sedaris clan gathers at Emerald Isle. The brilliance of David Sedaris's writing is that his very essence, his aura, seeps through the pages of his books like an intoxicating cloud, mesmerizing us so that his logic becomes ours: I found myself rooting for him to be able to keep his tumor and longing for the beautiful, climactic reunion scene when the sick turtle eats it. And it soon becomes clear why Sedaris finds it so important to be the master of his tumor: He sees himself in that turtle - weird, slightly damaged, set in his ways - so feeding it a part of him is also replenishing himself. King Lear gave away his lands, David Sedaris gives away his fatty lump. Health matters, aging and death itself are omnipresent in this book, like tentacles pulling a collection of stories together into a whole. Nowhere is the pain and mundanity of loss more hauntingly evoked than in the revelations about the suicide of the writer's sister Tiffany. Her death is mentioned early and referred to throughout, each heartbreaking detail adding a piece to this jigsaw of suburban family pain and confusion. Sedaris's description of his last encounter with Tiffany - beautifully lobbed at the reader from left field - describes her waiting for him at the stage door after one of his rock-star-like literary entertainments. That evening Sedaris feels empowered enough to deny his unpredictable and flailing sibling access to him. He feels content enough to think of his own well-being above her toxic needs. He revels, for a tragic, misplaced moment, in the power of being a star, and at his behest the door closes on Tiffany's face. They never see each other again, and she later kills herself in a manner as determined and cold as her brother's rejection that night. Of course such a tragedy sends reverberations throughout the family. Realignment is inexorable. He did not seek the position, and has somewhat reluctantly assumed the role, but there is no doubt that David Sedaris has become the daddy of his family. The geeks really do inherit the earth. One day recently when walking home across town in Lower Manhattan, I bumped into Amy Sedaris, the author's sister. We had worked together on "The Good Wife" when she came into the show to be my character's professional rival and love interest. One scene had her squirt whipped cream on my fingers and lick it off, and she actually bit me. Quite hard. I am nuts about her. We stopped to say hello. I noticed she had been shopping and was carrying several packages and bags. My mind flashed to the chapter in this book where she, her brother and their sister Gretchen travel to Japan to go shopping. But not just shopping. They become cave men, shopping beasts, consumer omnivores. And now here was one of them, today's catch in hand, beaming shyly at me in the middle of Broadway. It felt like a character from a book had tumbled down from the sky into my life, and of course she had. If I now viewed my life in glorious Sedariscope, it felt completely logical that one of his sisters should be enacting a story from the book in front of me. And also logical that seconds later, mid-pleasantry, we should both realize that the lights had changed to green and we were about to be mowed down and become New York City roadkill. Death and family are what this book is all about. Maybe what all David Sedaris's work is about? Maybe what all good writing has to be about for they are really the only constants in all our lives? We can avoid neither and the existence of both reminds us that we are no different from one another. As Sedaris says: "They've always done that for me, my family. It's what keeps me coming back." ? 'I have come to the conclusion that David Sedaris is not just some geeky Samuel Pepys, as I had assumed till these years.' alan CUMMING is an actor and author of four books, most recently "The Adventures of Honey and Leon."
Guardian Review
Sedariss stories are as funny as ever, but his diary-essays also confront tragedy, politics and depression Theres nobody quite like David Sedaris. Hes been likened to an American Alan Bennett, or an evil Garrison Keillor , but neither is precisely right: his collections of wry, sidelong diary-essays (there isnt a label for what he does; hes the lone inhabitant of a category of his own invention) have sold in their millions around the world, and his regular TV and radio appearances and sell-out reading tours have garnered him legions of fans. Devotees are well acquainted by now with the wider Sedaris clan His smart, adoring, yarn-spinning mother, who died in 1991; his father, distant and reactionary (a man who laughs appreciatively at such bumper stickers as DONT BLAME ME, I VOTED FOR THE AMERICAN) though softening at the edges as he ages; his clutch of wayward, wise-cracking siblings, against whom he measures himself, and on whom he relies. Theyre the animating force behind his writing; the wellspring of his humour, the source of his grace. Calypso, Sedariss 10th collection, is, more emphatically than ever, a family affair. The action revolves around the Sea Section, an oceanfront cottage on the North Carolina coast that Sedaris and his husband, Hugh, purchased in order to realise his childhood dream that one day I would buy a beach house and it would be everyones, as long as they followed my draconian rules and never stopped thanking me for it. The Sedarises gather and regather there: for Thanksgivings and summer vacations. Between confidences shared, board games played and sunscreen slathered, the anecdotes pile up. The time Sedaris and his sister Lisa went for an evening walk on the beach and then couldnt work out which house was theirs; the spectacle of his brother Paul living out his midlife crisis via juicing (Everything goes into his Omega J8006 kale, carrots, celery, some kind of powder scraped off the knuckles of bees); the occasion on which Sedaris fed the benign tumour, removed by a surgeon who had aattended one of his readings, to a turtle (yes, thats right). For all its warmth and wit, Calypso is a rawer, jaggeder, sadder book than its predecessors Through disarmingly frank descriptions of their collective idiosyncrasies, vulgarities and charms, he conjures the sort of warts-and-all closeness that family alone can offer, and to feel yourself a part of that is as beguiling an experience as ever. But while the surface of this collection glitters just as brightly as the others, the shadows that swarm the depths are darker. Questions of ageing and mortality hover, and as life moves forward and the tragedies pile up, it turns out there are some things its impossible to play for laughs. For all its warmth and wit, Calypso is a rawer, jaggeder, sadder book than its predecessors, and one in which, for the first time, Sedaris appears to pull the curtain back; to show us where, behind the illusion of intimacy, the levers are located, and how they are being pulled. First, though, Sedaris reinducts us into his universe in the collections opening piece, Company Man, in which he tackles the indignities of mid-life with gusto. Confronted with his opening gambit that there are few real joys to middle age. The only perk I can see is that, with luck, youll acquire a guest room, its impossible not to relax: to snort in recognition at his observations, so conspiratorially delivered; to understand, from the combination of pith and perfect timing, that youre in the hands of a comic master. Theres something, too, about his writing that flatters his readers: the confiding tone; the approachable intelligence; his trick of exposing and then skewering his foibles and thus allowing us to feel better about our own. Its hard not to feel smug by the end of the first piece. We may be navigating the seas of mid-life ourselves (his fans are apparently ageing with him), but at least were reading Sedaris while were doing it. All, then, is as it should be until the first line of the second piece, when he sharply pulls the rug from under us. In late May 2013, he writes, a few weeks shy of her fiftieth birthday, my youngest sister, Tiffany, committed suicide. Its a bald, brutal admission, delivered without decoration (though not without care: look at the way the sentence itself constitutes an act of dramatic withholding, delivering the gut-punch of suicide only in the final clause) and its jolt is all the more destabilising for coming in the wake of the light, familiar wit of the opening essay. Tiffanys suicide, and the questions it raises, are unequivocally the subjects of this volume, and a lesser author wouldnt have had the chops to keep them back until chapter two. But in doing so, Sedaris gives us a shock that is an echo of the way in which the news intruded into his congenial, guest-room-rich life. A person expects his parents to die, he reflects. But a sibling? I felt Id lost the identity Id enjoyed since 1968. Sedaris explores the double blow of losing Tiffany and of losing his own status as one of six over the course of the collection, circling back repeatedly as he tries to make sense of who his sister was, and who he was in relation to her. Shes constantly in the thoughts and on the tongues of his family; she appears to him in his dreams. She comes across as funny, prickly, angry, unwell. She left a will in which she decreed that we, her family, could not have her body or attend her memorial service. On the question of why she did it, his father claims to believe that it may not have had anything to do with them. But how could it have not? Sedaris wonders. Doesnt the blood of every suicide splash back on our faces? From the evidence here, the answer is an emphatic yes. Theres no question of the impact of Tiffanys death on Sedariss identity as a brother; whats intriguing from a readers perspective is the impact it has had on his identity as a writer, too. Oh, theres plenty in this collection thats vintage Sedaris: bright, trenchant essays on upselling (the practice of pushing more stuff on you as if in order to properly read a copy of US Weekly youll have to first rinse your eyes out with a four-dollar bottle of Evian), or the addictive properties of a Fitbit (Before, once wed eaten dinner, I was in for the evening. Now, though, as soon as Im finished with the dishes, I walk to the pub and back, a distance of 3,895 steps). But the fact of Tiffanys death, the sense that the worst has happened and he has found a way to write about it, appears to have loosened something in him; to have freed him up to lift the lid on other aspects of his life that dont fit the comedy bill. In A Number of Reasons Ive Been Depressed Lately he tackles Trumps election and the great screaming fight it touches off with his Republican father. In the superb Why Arent You Laughing?, he reveals his mothers alcoholism, sketching the transition from the cheerful and charismatic woman of daylight hours whose speciality, like her sons, was the real-life story, perfected and condensed, to the night-time version, who swore and slurred, looked different, raw, like youd taken the lady she was earlier and peeled her. All of these are warm-ups, though, for the most remarkable revelation, which comes just pages before the end, at the conclusion of an essay on ghosts. Though his family are ghost-mad, Sedaris affects not to believe in them. But it turns out hes haunted, just the same. In a few brief, uninflected paragraphs, he describes the last time he saw Tiffany, when she turned up at the stage door of one of his readings. At this point, he explains, they hadnt spoken in four years. There was a security guard holding the door open, and I said to him, Will you close that, please?, he writes. And so the man did. He shut the door in my sisters face and I never saw her or spoke to her again. The admission shocks not just because of Sedariss action, but because it exposes the illusion that his readers have collectively bought into: that his frankness on certain subjects is equivalent to honesty. This is exposure of a deeper, darker kind than hes attempted before: exposure of himself, and of his former careful management of his and his familys stories. Looking for truth in the courtroom sense in Sedariss essays has always been a mugs game, missing the point. Truthfulness, though emotional, spiritual hes always traded on these. And with Calypso, hes given us his most truthful work yet. - Sarah Crown.
Kirkus Review
In which the veteran humorist enters middle age with fine snark but some trepidation as well.Mortality is weighing on Sedaris (Theft by Finding: Diaries 1977-2002, 2017, etc.), much of it his own, professional narcissist that he is. Watching an elderly man have a bowel accident on a plane, he dreaded the day when he would be the target of teenagers' jokes "as they raise their phones to take my picture from behind." A skin tumor troubled him, but so did the doctor who told him he couldn't keep it once it was removed. "But it's my tumor," he insisted. "I made it." (Eventually, he found a semitrained doctor to remove and give him the lipoma, which he proceeded to feed to a turtle.) The deaths of others are much on the author's mind as well: He contemplates the suicide of his sister Tiffany, his alcoholic mother's death, and his cantankerous father's erratic behavior. His contemplation of his mother's drinking--and his family's denial of it--makes for some of the most poignant writing in the book: The sound of her putting ice in a rocks glass increasingly sounded "like a trigger being cocked." Despite the gloom, however, frivolity still abides in the Sedaris clan. His summer home on the Carolina coast, which he dubbed the Sea Section, overspills with irreverent bantering between him and his siblings as his long-suffering partner, Hugh, looks on. Sedaris hasn't lost his capacity for bemused observations of the people he encounters. For example, cashiers who say "have a blessed day" make him feel "like you've been sprayed against your will with God cologne." But bad news has sharpened the author's humor, and this book is defined by a persistent, engaging bafflement over how seriously or unseriously to take life when it's increasingly filled with Trump and funerals.Sedaris at his darkest--and his best.
Library Journal Review
Sedaris's narration certainly brings his true flavor and personality to these pages. This latest work is full of the author's usual dark humor combined with a deep sense of the changes in his family; it may be his most intimate book. His observations and insights come from viewing aging, loss, and mortality as he often crosses the lines of "acceptable" behavior. A live recording of "While You're up There, Check on My Prostate" includes audiences roaring at the crudest insults about bad drivers they may never forget and his own tumor's memorable journey. The essays about a Carolina coastal beach house can resonate with summer cottage renters and are tinged with the smells of sand and suntan oil; the revelations about his late sister Tiffany and his parents are bitter-sweetly relatable; and listeners will enjoy accompanying the author on his Fitbit walks in airports and in Europe. VERDICT Sedaris isn't to everyone's tastes, but fans are in for plenty of laughs and some more poignant moments. Original musical interludes composed and performed by Daniel Hart are a bonus. ["[Sedaris's] honesty is compelling, and his ability to create laughter in the darkness offers readers comfort and hope": LJ 5/1/18 starred review of the Little, Brown hc.]-Joyce Kessel, Villa Maria Coll., Buffalo © Copyright 2018. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Table of Contents
| Company Man | p. 3 |
| Now We Are Five | p. 15 |
| Little Guy | p. 33 |
| Stepping Out | p. 41 |
| A House Divided | p. 51 |
| The Perfect Fit | p. 67 |
| Leviathan | p. 79 |
| Your English Is So Good | p. 95 |
| Calypso | p. 107 |
| A Modest Proposal | p. 119 |
| The Silent Treatment | p. 129 |
| Untamed | p. 145 |
| The One(s) Who Got Away | p. 157 |
| Sorry | p. 161 |
| Boo-Hooey | p. 177 |
| A Number of Reasons I've Been Depressed Lately | p. 185 |
| Why Aren't You Laughing? | p. 195 |
| I'm Still Standing | p. 211 |
| The Spirit World | p. 225 |
| And While You're Up There, Check On My Prostate | p. 239 |
| The Comey Memo | p. 245 |