When You Are Engulfed In Flames

         There is a fundamental flaw built into the memoirist. For someone to be considered as such, they have probably written multiple books about themselves. On each subsequent release, then, arises the question, why was this left out the first time? A family’s quirks can become far too familiar too quickly for a writer to carry on about them through five collections. Which is why we can be thankful for the legitimately talented. Please, gentlemen, say hello once more to Mr. David Sedaris.
         Mr. Sedaris’ books, starting with “Barrel Fever” (1994), have been translated into 25 languages and he has graced the New York Times best-seller list four times with a probable fifth trip by the end of this month. With his latest, “When You Are Engulfed In Flames” (Little Brown, 2008), Sedaris has savingly stepped outside the time frames he has so successfully worked within for past essays. While David mined the same set of years for the material included in “Naked” (1997), “Me Talk Pretty One Day” (2000), and “Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim” (2004), he felt the need to beat a fresh horse this time around the track. In this new collection of first person essays, among other things, David discusses buying pot from a trailer-dwelling couple in North Carolina over the holidays, an ornery pseudo land lady with a crush on his widowed father, how Bob Dylan and Donna Summer can save you from a Hitchcockian chaffinch attack, and the “number one reason not to blow a horse in your bedroom,” most of which takes place after the period spent in Normandy, detailed in Me Talk Pretty.
         Even with a ripe period from which to pull, many familiar characters recur. David’s father appears, as does his mother (briefly), his boyfriend and professional set designer, Hugh Hamrick, and sister Amy, of “Strangers With Candy” fame, who offers the number one reason alluded to above: the inevitable muddy carpet. Also within Flames can be found David’s own devilishly deadpan prose and, yes, the occasional exaggeration. The New York Times, a fine publication, recently brought to my attention an essay published by The New Republic, a once fine publication, entitled “This American Lie.” The author, Alex Heard, questioned the validity of some of David’s essays included in “Naked.” An authors note in Flames describes the events discussed as “realish.” As I see it, a memoir should be allowed some breathing room, otherwise, it would be called an auto-biography. In a new essay, ‘Memento Mori,’ David recalls a conversation of sorts he had with a 300 year old skeleton who continues to remind him of his impending doom. While I was sitting on my front porch, reading this book, I admittedly began to doubt the existence of a character, but just for a moment. The essay which seemed beyond reality is called ‘This Old House.’ In it, David writes of “an arthritic psychic, a ramshackle house, and either two or four crazy people, depending on your tolerance for hats.” Just as I cast a curious eye at the schizophrenic Chaz, I kid you not, a pink golf cart filled with middle-aged women scooted past my house. Quite simply, sometimes the absurd occurs, and David is always there to capture it. I suspect Heard thought up a clever essay title and just ran with it (Sedaris is a somewhat regular contributor to National Public Radio’s “This American Life”).
         What appears to be an initial series of stumbles, the first few essays are actually quite well poised. First time readers are introduced to Mr. Sedaris, a man fascinated by the silly, sincere, and borderline disgusting. Most of all, they’re introduced to a writer’s writer. David’s sentences have grown more slender. Unnecessary words are few and far between. In a similar scope, his comedic timing has become more acute. Unexpected daggers of humor line single sentences. He’s one of the world’s foremost comic writers, yet he still manages to slip a punch-line in under your nose. But that’s not to say his pace is skewed. I’m not sure where the praise should appropriately fall, on the author or his editor, but the collection is well paced. The majority of the book is full of short essays which land like quick jabs. Eventually, tempo slows and the reader comes upon perhaps the longest essay in the Sedaris cannon, ‘The Smoking Section,’ an account of his attempt to quit smoking. On “The Daily Show,” David referred to what is discussed in the book as “the Japanese method,” which is essentially a $23,000 vacation in Tokyo. It’s not that humor fades from this last essay, but, considering the essay is a bit drawn out, the laughs accept a supporting role. Though, in some spots, the comedy reaches that rare summit where the goofy and masterful meet. “I was in El Paso one afternoon, changing out of my swimsuit, and a young man said, “Excuse me, but aren’t you...” When I say I was changing out of my swimsuit, I mean that I had nothing on. No socks, no T-shirt. My underpants were in my hand. I guess the guy recognized me from my jacket photo. The full-length naked one on the back cover of my braille editions.”
         Some (ahem, Times) may suggest that this work lacks the enlightened reflection which appeared in flashes through Dress Your Family. With that I must disagree. Rather than completely cleansing his recent essays of thick sincerity, David covers it delicately with the light-hearted shawl he has spent the last sixteen years weaving. In one essay, David discusses an old man he initially befriended in spite of popular community opinion . The man, who was recently excited by an increase in his train travel discount to seventy-five percent as a result of a hip replacement, was eventually diagnosed with a terminal cancer. David learns of this three years after their last discussion, at which point I share this excerpt: “I saw him on his front stoop a week before he died, and when I waved he beckoned me inside the gate and we shook hands one last time. I found myself wondering if the cancer had upped his train discount, bumped it from seventy-five percent to something even higher, but it’s a hard question to ask when you’re not fluent. And I wouldn’t want him to take it the wrong way.” That last line aches with sagacity! Once you’ve read the essay yourself, learned of the old man and their peculiar relationship, you’ll understand completely.
         This book is a must-read for 2008. Though, once you do, try to avoid comparing it to his other works and enjoy it for what it is: a satisfying step in the right direction. I must borrow from John Stewart, as he said it best, “The book is phenomenal, if you like joy.”