The Remains of the Day

One of the first things we discussed with this month's book The Remains of the Day (If the title sounds familiar, that may be because it was made into a movie with Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson.) was Ishiguro's writing style. What particularly struck me was the fact that a novel about a very traditional, bordering on stereotypical, English butler was penned by an Asian author. The biographical information provided at the back of the novel states that Ishiguro, who was born in 1954, has lived in England since 1960. This fact may help account in part for his ability to capture the ideas of the English relationship between master and manservant as well as the language. Bob also helped me out on this one by explaining that the English and Japanese feudal systems have many similarities. While one might argue that as a butler Stevens and his story do not quite fall under the heading of feudal, the premise is the same as both systems are based upon strict standards of conduct such as masking one's emotions and exerting a sobering amount of emotional control. At one point in the novel, Stevens addresses this idea under the term dignity, though it is a dignity which I would argue few of us are in a position to truly understand. The writing at times has an almost stream of consciousness feel, particularly when Stevens appears to be having a revelation of sorts about himself and his life, and these revelations are in fact what the book is all about. I'm not even sure that I fully understood or appreciated the depth of the character Steven's until Bob and Nick discussed him. My initial impression was, "Show an emotion, any emotion!" Bob pointed out that while Stevens is quite disconnected from his emotions, such as the handful of instances when he is crying and doesn't seem to realize it, he does in fact feel things deeply, but these feelings remain veiled behind his professional exterior. This veiling is exactly why the line where he is discussing Miss Kenton and he states something to the effect of "My heart was breaking" hit me so forcefully. At last he seems to be having an truly authentic emotion.

This idea of authenticity was also addressed as we see that in most instances Stevens takes on the views of those around him rather than establishing his own opinions and positions. This tendency to avoid a conflict of opinion is seen with regard to his feelings toward his former employer Lord Darlington. In his private thoughts, Stevens asserts that Lord Darlington was real gentleman who fell under a manipulative influence, resulting in the tarnishing of his good name. However, on at least two occasions Stevens denies that he worked for Lord Darlington. What then is the cause for his denial? While he attempts to convince himself that is not in good taste to discuss one's former employers, to actually address his behavior would first force Stevens to assert an opinion and secondly would force him to acknowledge the foibles of his former employer.

This novel is a journey for Stevens, not only a journey across the English countryside but a journey toward an understanding of himself, one that is authentic by casting aside the rigid exterior and assuming for better or worse a bit of Lord Darlington by making his own decisions. Toward the end of the novel, the reader finds Stevens on a park bench with another older man who also served as a manservant, though at not nearly so prestigious an estate as Stevens. The man tells Stevens that they can and must make use of the remains of the day, both the literal day once one's work obligations are done and the metaphorical in the remainder of the days of their lives. One thing that we were all curious about and that another 100 or so pages of text would put to rest is where does Stevens go now? Now that he has had the epiphany what does he do with the knowledge such a revelation brings? Of course, that may very well be Ishiguro's intended response for his audience as to end the story at this moment leaves an infinite realm of possiblity open for Stevens that he has been blind to prior to his journey, and we as the reader are allowed the luxury of filling in the blanks in any way we choose.

What are the small things?

July's meeting had an awesome turnout to discuss The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy. In contrast to the posting on Lolita, this month's book led itself to a wonderful discussion of not only the novel itself but the religious and caste influence at work during the period in which the novel is set. As was pointed out in the discussion, if one has some background into both the social and religious dynamics at work in India, then the interpretation of events in the text bear examination in another light. A great example of this that Bob pointed out is the dizygotic nature of the twin's relationship. Dizygotic twins are the result of two individual eggs being fertilized and carried to term as opposed to monozygotic twins which occur when one fertilized egg divides. Dizygotic twins are not identical nor do they (supposedly) possess the famous twin bond. In fact, the twin expert in the novel addresses this concept when the topic of separating the twins is brought up, and the expert testifies that the result would be no greater than if any two non-twin siblings were separated. Now in the context of the novel, this is obviously not the case as the twins have what could be considered a supernatural bond. What Bob pointed out is that in Eastern literature and beliefs the spiritual/supernatural often supersedes the natural, and I think that one would be hard pressed to argue against that belief in The God of Small Things.

This discussion of the bond between Estha and Rahel provides a starting point for our discussion of the act of incest that takes place between them. In most cases our automatic response to incest is one of at worst horror or at the least the subject of bad jokes. However, much like the sex scenes in Lolita, this act is not described in such a way as to arouse those intial responses. In fact, this act is yet another continuation of the theme of love in the novel, particularly who can love whom and how and how much. Over and over again those words are repeated when describing relationships, and the first that comes to mind is the relationship between Ammu and Velutha. Their was a relationship that was doomed from the start due to the caste divide between them. Velutha is an untouchable, and while he is kept around for the invaluable services he can provide the family, he is never really considered a true human being. Thus, when Ammu, who it must be noted is already condemned for her failed marriage, lowers herself to a relationship with an untouchable, nothing but destruction can befall them.

Actually, in many ways this is a novel of destruction with Estha and Rahel paying the greatest price. The events of their childhood from their parents' divorce, to their separation, to their mother's scandalous relationship, to their role in the death of Sophie and Velutha have contributed to make them what I can't help but consider damaged characters. Though they are adults, these childhood events haunt them and continue to impact every aspect of their lives. Perhaps one of the best ways to examine the haunting nature of these events is through an examination of some of the language in the novel. One thing that comes to mind and ties into the theme of love is the remark that Ammu makes to Rahel in which she states that one's actions can make others love that individual a little less. What a statement to make to a young and impressionable child. Of course this sticks in Rahel's head, and throughout the childhood portions she returns back to it and measures the amount of love she believes she receives from Ammu. Language also comes into play when Baby Kochamma forces Rahel and Estha to implicate Velutha in order to salvage the family's name and reputation. They are told that if they do not go along with what Baby Kochamma says then they will be sending their mother to prison. Although she is never presented as an admirable or even pitiable character, this is the most damning act that Baby commits as she manipulates the children. While everyone is complict to evil or wrongdoing in the novel and must receive blame in some way, arguably it is the children who continue to pay for the sins of the family.

Better Late Than Never Lolita

There is no real excuse for me to be posting our discussion of Lolita at the beginning of August. However, as I think back over the book and the discussion, it does make me question what is factor that determines what your conversation over the book will be like? Some books stimulate heated conversations while others seem to fall flat, and surprisingly, at least for me, Lolita was one of those books. Given the still somewhat scandalous reputation of Nabokov's novel, I expected that we would have much to talk about. However, I presumptuously think that we still struggle with Humbert Humbert's narrative in light of both A. What we know he is and B. The way in which our society views individuals like him. Obviously we recognize that a grown man essentially kidnapping (though I may use that term a bit too freely) and sexually exploiting a young teen is a no-no. Therefore, I think many readers have difficulty with Humbert's narrative version of events because while he knows that his actions are taboo in society, he also attempts to explain to the reader how he cannot help himself. Sounds like a great mental defect defense, huh?

One thing Nicole brought up and which after having read the book is still not something I have sorted out in my mind is the significance of Lolita both in the novel and in present day language use. In Nabokov's work Lolita is pretty much reduced to Humbert's sex object who learns to barter her "favors" for small desires typical of many teens. One could argue that if she's going to be forced to give in to Humbert's demands she might as well get something no matter how small in exchange. However, I would argue that Lolita is the victim here; yet, the word/name Lolita has taken on its own negative associations in modern society. What I am curious about is how did this association come about as if she is somehow at fault and culpable for the things that happen to her while she is with Humbert.

Lastly and perhaps the most noteworthy portion of our discussion was our analysis of Nabokov's language. In Lolita Nabokov executes a use of poetic language that would be noteworthy in any writer, and his skill is even more notable given that English is not his primarly language. Somehow he manages to order Humbert's narrative in such a way as to allow Humbert to both rationalize and romanticize his actions. This manipulative function of narrative often purposefully influences the reader's unconscious response to the narrative, and to a certain extent I see this same thing taking place in Lolita. While I had a basic idea of what the novel was about, I have to admit that I was very surprised by the fact that the sex scenes were not nearly so graphic as I anticipated. In fact, some were so subtle that they could almost be missed. This lack of graphic imagery as well as the narrative properties of Humbert's story work together to almost lessen the intensity of what Humbert does. I'm not exactly arguing that Humbet does or should escape judgment, but what I do argue is that the judgment we exact is somewhat different, thanks to Nabokov's narrative style, than it would be if he included violent rather than romanticized images and language.

Calling Out Ishmael

Our discussion on Ishmael by Daniel Quinn ranged across a myriad of topics. Personally, I was skeptical before reading it, especially when Nancy told me that the premise of an ape teaching a man. I anticipated a drudging through this like a wearied soldier through a 3 foot marsh. Yet when I finished reading, it had been less than 24 hours from when I began.

I’m very interested in worldviews, epistemologies, and how they develop, so the content intrigued me. I knew the book would provide good discussion material, but I wasn’t sure how everyone else would receive the novel.

We always look to compare the current book w/ past ones we’ve read. The discussions about captivity and man’s relationship w/ animals remind me of Life of Pi. And the theme of teaching, degrees of learning, and the sacrifice needed for education, call to mind A Lesson Before Dying. Yet Ben brought a classical comparison from a work we have not read: Plato’s dialogues.

Ishmael’s format of teacher lecturing student appealed to me, Nichole, Nancy, and Ben. But Bob felt that Quinn relied so heavily on Ishmael’s (the ape) teachings, that he neglected the elements that make for a good story. Bob’s point was that Quinn’s ideas would have been better complimented with a more intellectual active narrator. He liked Quinn’s discussion but would’ve felt the narrative would’ve been richer if Ishmael had been challenged more in his thinking. Of course, we know Quinn has a sequel, and good writers often clarify or strengthen the obtuse or weak parts of their arguments.

Speaking of arguments, the main question the book addresses concerns whether or not man is equal to or superior to other earthly beings. Are we as much part of the earth as juniper trees and warthogs or are we the crown of creation made by God to subdue the earth? Quinn makes the question more political than religious, and so any religious or mythological arguments are used as foundations for his central point, which is that we should think seriously about overpopulation and wasting of natural resources.

I don’t think we disagreed with the theoretical aspects of Quinn’s points, but we were left wanting more in terms of the ways in which he said we should enact his ideas. Controlling population sounds fine until you’re the one being controlled. Again, I’d like to see how he adjuncts these arguments in the sequel My Ishmael.

Since I love speaking for the group, I’ll do so here: we’d recommend this as a compelling read and as a good book to discuss. In fact, we decided it would work well as a text in an environmental science course or maybe even an upper division English class. But I don’t think any of us are going to check out My Ishmael. That said, I wasn’t too interested in Ishmael before I flipped through its pages and ran my eyes across its opening lines. 

What Side of Paradise are You on?

Yet another late post, this time on F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise. Fitzgerald is of course best known for his examination of the American dream in The Great Gatsby, but this novel, his first, is the one that actually thrust him onto the scene of American literature. One of the things that first comes to my mind is the fact that Fitzgerald belongs to that group of American writers considered, thanks to Gertrude Stein, the "lost generation." After reading This Side of Paradise, that description seems particularly fitting as Amory acts as a representative figure of this "lost" concept given the sense of disconnect and alienation between Amory and essentially the rest of the world. In many ways Amory may be seen as representative of many of the authors of the lost generation who were well read, well educated, and yet somehow adrift in the world they lived in. Amory's life of privilege, one many readers may look at with envy, in fact seems to do little to ground him. Instead, as he flits from place to place and often woman to woman, the most overwhelming feeling of his experience is that of emptiness. While Amory often comes across as the sort of character one either wants to throttle or simply abandon his story, in fact, minus the world travels and Ivy League education, could be that of countless other youth. The novel may best be read as the struggle of a person trying to find his way, something everyone must do at some point in life. Behind his facade of false and to me often annoying bravado is the overwhelming desire to fit in, revealing a lack of self-esteem that the exterior seeks to conceal. Hhmm, imagine art imitating life here...

One of the chief topics of discussion for this book was whether or not we like Amory. In some ways this may seem oh so unscholarly, but I think back to what I try to ingrain into my students, the fact that we should have an emotional response to literature. Otherwise, what's the point? However, rather than inciting us to action by exposing some injustice in the world around us, Amory perhaps forces us to look inward rather than outward. In response to this, a couple of the questions we examined were: Not only do we like him or not but do we praise him or agree with him? As some of my earlier comments show, I often grew weary of Amory, but there are at times redeeming qualities about him, such as when he takes the blame for a friend in the hotel room scene as well as his recurring thoughts on the death of his college cohorts in the war. At the end of the novel, readers are left with two possible options for Amory's life: he will either become a Darcy or a Beatrice. One road leads to redemption and the other to destruction, or at least the equivalent of such in the emotional/psychological sense if not the physical one.

One last thing we discussed was Fitzgerald's writing style. The text mimics Amory's own world view, as illustrated by certain sections, in which life is either a poem or a play. These ideas are supported by his attempts at writing poetry as well as the references to other poets as well as the portion written as play's script would appear on paper.

A Long Time Ago in a Starbucks Not Far Away

Curious about the title? Well Books and Bucks friends, this is the ridiculously late posting for James Baldwin's Go Tell it on the Mountain. By the way, that title always makes me think of the Christmas song with those lines. You know it goes like this: "Go tell it on the mountain, over the hills and everywhere. Go tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is born." These lines somehow seem quite fitting given the fact that bulk of the novel centers around faith or sometimes a lack of faith of the characters. Arguably the central character John is most directly impacted by this struggle of religion in his life. He is expected to have a forceful religious conversion experience, the kind that knocks a person off his/her feet and causes him/her to dance, shout, and possibly even speak in tongues, all signs of the Holy Spirit at work in that person. However, as young teen, John does not yet possess the faith that his elders believe he should have. In fact, at times I felt that John was being pressured to profess to this faith in much the same way a child may be pressured to perform in sports or academics. This type of pressure can be so overwhelming that at times it seems it would be easier to "fake it" in order to eliminate the pressure and dispel the questioning nature of those around one. However, John does not submit to this easy way out. Instead, the novel follows him through this process as well as providing the background story of his mother, his step-father, and his aunt (his step-father's sister). Each of these characters has had his/her own struggles both in the faith and outside of it, bringing to mind the question of what does it really mean to have faith at work in one's life.

A prime example of this question can be found in John's step-father who the reader discovers resents John because he is not his own son, though John is unaware of this lack of blood relationship. In his early life, he lived what could be considered if not a immoral life certainly not a religious one. However, his religious conversion far from tempering him and making him a more compassionate man seems to (or at least this is the way he makes it seem) provide him with the basis by which he casts out judgment on others. If they do not measure up to his almost impossibly high standards, then they are inferior and will be treated as such. This is particularly interesting and yet extremely pathetic as it seems his version of God and faith does not include forgiveness for transgressions or the frailty of man before God. The exception to this case can be found in the form of Roy, his biological son. Young Roy is in many ways his father's son as he too is wild, rebellious, and almost certainly destined for a bad end. However, rather than send down his wrath on Roy, he shows at times an infuriating sense of love, bordering on worship, of the boy, while casting John, the "good son," to the side. The irony is not lost here as this relationship brings to mind two Biblical father/son relationships: the stories of Jacob and Esau as well as the prodigal son, though at the end of the novel, Roy has not seen the error of his ways as the prodigal son does.

To return to the principal character John, he is caught in the conflict that seems to accompany a religious conversion experience, that battle between God and the material world. While he is expected to choose God, one might wonder at this choice given the hypocritical nature of some the religious figures. It makes me think of many people's argument against organized religion because they see it as filled with hypocrites who go to church on Sunday but live another lifestyle during the week. However, at the end of the book, John does experience the filling of the Holy Spirit that marks his fulfillment of the expectations of those around him. While it seems like this experience would bring a sense of acceptance, at least temporarily, from his step-father, this is not the case. Instead, it is almost as if his step-father does not truly believe John's acceptance of the Spirit is real. This lack of support along with the fact that life for John seems contrary to such a sense of fervor brings to to mind the question as to how long this passion can be sustained. Will John be able to feed and nurture his young faith or will it wither and die? Is it possible to sustain such fervor in the world? This is something I have to admit I wonder both inside and outside the discussion of the text as the acceptance of faith into one's life is found both in other literature we have read as well as the world we live in. John's struggle and seeming desire to feel what others around him feel brings to mind both Rick Bragg's All Over but the Shoutin' and Annie Dillard's An American Childhood as this concept is addressed in each. Bragg recalls how he attended a small, cinder block church as a boy, and in this account he talks about how week after week he sat in the pew waiting to be touched by the hand that he believed was on all those around him. He desperately wanted to believe, but he says that that hand never touched him, igniting that passion of belief. Dillard too recounts the experience of attending church as a child and the shock with which she saw the boys around her in the act of prayer. To her it seemed that the possibilty of her peers actually possessing an active faith was beyond her comprehension. Baldwin leaves us as readers with this question unanswered, and perhaps this ambiguity is fitting by allowing the reader to answer this question for himself/herself by examining one's own beliefs system.

Did you live An American Childhood?

Okay, first off, I realize I've been a bit of a slacker with regard to actually posting the notes I've taken at our meetings. So, here goes with our March read Annie Dillard's An American Childhood. I had heard of Annie Dillard, but ashamedly I really knew nothing about her. That made this read which chronicles her childhood in Pittsburgh intriguing; plus, I love a good memoir. Thinking back over the book, one of the things that struck me the most with the book is that so many other books that seek to recount the author's childhood are filled with horrific accounts of abuse, poverty, deprivation, loss, etc. etc. Very rarely does this sort of book really focus on the life of for all practical purposes a functional, stable, loving family. Since Dillard came from a fairly affluent family, I don't know if I'd go so far as to say Dillard had the typical American childhood, whatever that is, but it certainly captured many elements of growing up that I think most children experience.

In fact, this ability to relate to the text was something we discussed pretty heavily, and everyone could find some experience that she documented that we had in our own growing up years. One of the things pretty much everyone had in common with the text was that feeling of discovery and all consuming interest that Dillard found in reading, rocks, her microscope, and drawing. As a child, we are creators of wonder. Things grab our attention and we want to learn about them purely for the joy of discovery and knowing. Drawing on my litany of educational terminology, we are actively engaged in the learning process. However, we also discussed the fact that as we move toward adulthood much of this wonder is lost. Dillard herself begins to address this movement in the portion of her novel that deals with her teen years. Between school, friends, and the awakening to the mysteries of the opposite sex, somehow that wonder and feverish desire to know fade into the background. In fact, as self-educated as Dillard was, she often notes that as a female growing up in the fifties there were arenas that she was not privilege to. In one discussion of her male contemporaries, she explores the inequality of the sexes, though not in those exact terms. She describe the boys as being part of a club who "knew things" and whose futures had been planned for them from the moment of their birth. These boys were the future lawyers and bank presidents and company executives; while Dillard's opportunities as a female were much more constricted.

This idea of male versus female roles lead me to another element of discussion with regard to the book. On numerous occasions she describes her mother as being different from the other women of the time, more progressive in a sense. Yet, for all her progressive sensibilities, she was still very much the stereotypical fifties American housewife whose time was primarily dedicated to taking care of her family. In the opening section of the book, Dillard actually hints at but never openly addresses the stifling nature of such a life. She talks about the atmosphere of the neighborhood after the men have left for work that seems to capture this almost stagnant quality of the days. Of course, time also seems to pass much more slowly when one is a child, so this may account for a portion of the mood this section gives off. Still, it brings up another point in our discussion, that idea of being awake and truly living in the moment that can be traced back to the Transcendentalist movement. In fact, perhaps it is this strong connection to the Transcendentalists that leads to the poetic language and nature of the book.

While we reached the consensus that perhaps this was not the most discussion provoking book we have read, it certainly has its merits, and if nothing else it made us reflect a bit back on our own childhoods and how those experiences have helped to shape us into the adults we are today.

Off With Their Heads

Now that the title has your attention, on to the latest installment of the Bucks and Books blog over Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. As children, several of us had seen the Disney adaptation of Carroll's fantastical novels, but at the age of six, one's scope of criticism usually falls under "I love it" or "I hate it." Personally, I remember enjoying the movie, but I did not find that same sense of enjoyment when reading the text. I kept thinking to myself, "What is the point of all this?" and after our meeting on Saturday, I feel safe in saying that at times in our reading we all felt a bit like Alice as she struggled to make sense of the Wonderland world. In fact, most of us came to the table with the same sense of having missed out on something critical in the text, leading once again to the question of Carroll's authorial intent.

Perhaps as educated adults, many of whom make a living out of reading and analyzing texts in one way or another, we are handicapped by our expectations that our reading contains subliminal messages or critical commentaries. Maybe the rambling narration and often nonsensical plot can best be appreciated by children, Carroll's target audience, who revel in stories and the more ridiculous the better. The introduction and annotations in the copy I read, explored Carroll's life and his friendships with children, particularly Alice Liddell, the Alice of Alice in Wonderland. Supposedly, Alice in Wonderland was the expansion of a story Carroll made up for the amusement of Alice and her two sisters while they were on a rowing trip one summer day. If this is the case, then perhaps the stories are simply glorified children's tales, and we as adults are discounting their entertainment value by looking for something more imbedded in the text.

Interestingly, if one believes these stories were solely for the entertainment of children, then years later they do in fact inadvertently provide insight into the time period in which they were written. The Victorian period brought about the concept of a true and marked childhood. Prior to this children were viewed as miniature adults. Secondly, these stories provide a departure of the norm of children's literature as instructional tool. Rather than building a story around a moral lesson or virtue, the story serves little purpose aside from enjoyment and even escape, interestingly one of the chief reasons for popular literature today. In many ways our difficulty with the text may also allow it to be cast as a satire due to way in which the disconnect between the worlds of children and adults becomes painfully obvious.

Needless to say, there is much more I could have written from our discussion, but in an attempt to create a cohesive thread, some has been omitted. Also, this seems a fitting time to mention the fact that while we did not go into a Freudian reading of Carroll's friendships with and adoration for young girls, there is plenty out there to read on the topic if one so desires. Secondly, this book really forced us to look at the way in which the introduction and the point of view expressed by that author can color a reading of the book and the reader's attitudes toward the author, yet another excuse not to read those pesky introductions.

Holiday on Trial or What We Thought of David Sedaris' Christmas Short Stories

"Ladies, you know what this is. Use it. I have scraped enough blood out from the crotches of elf knickers to last me the rest of my life. And don't tell me, 'I don't wear underpants, I'm a dancer. You're not a dancer. If you were a real dancer you wouldn't be here. You're an elf and you're going to wear panties like an elf."                             --David Sedaris, "The Santa Land Diaries"

In a letter to Richard Woodhouse, John Keats talks about the poetical Character being something that "is everything and nothing" and how it "enjoys light and shade." His point was that a true poet becomes invisible behind his (or her) writing, that the voice the reader receives is the voice of the given text. Though not poetry, David Sedaris' Holidays on Ice reflects several voices both likable and despicable, ironically humorous and slapstick humorous. And it's these voices and what they had to say that we discussed on Saturday Dec. 20th.

Since Holidays on Ice is a collection of short stories, we began our conversation by naming our favorite one (I know. I know. Very sophisticated). From there, we delved into the themes and significance of each story. Here's an abbreviated avatar of our discussion:

"Dinah, the Christmas Whore."

Here, we talked about the lesson a Young David Sedaris learned about Christmas, how it's not all about him. The beginning of the story centers around a teenage Sedaris focused on asserting his individuality while exposing the corporateness of Christmas. What Young Sedaris saw was an up-close imbuing of the Christmas spirit when his sister and later his mother feed and care for a prostitute with domestic problems. 

We discussed how the story, though not factually true, was probably based loosely on some incident that Sedaris was able to sensationalize and chronicle. We used this idea to spearhead a conversation about how writers create fiction. From there, we transitioned our discussion to how stories are constructed.

"The Santa Land Diaries."

This collection of diary entries about Sedaris' experience as a Christmas Elf for Macy's one holiday season sparked perhaps the funniest part of our get together, for it constituted us reading aloud our favorite parts from his entries. 

The amazing part of this story is the amount of topics Sedaris was able to touch on in such a short period of time (the selfishness of parents poorly disguised as love for their children, the issue of Santa Claus' race, and the juxtaposition of holiday cheer with biting anger--from the same person, and what the real Santa Claus would do if he were a mall Santa). As a group, this was our favorite entry, but we knew we had others to discuss.

"Season's Greetings to Our Friends and Family!!!"

The appeal of this story was the way in which it evolves like a CSI case. I don't want to give too much away, but our discussion turned into us analyzing evidence and coming to a conclusion about the story's conclusion. We also discussed the "WASPY tone" of the piece, and a few members of our group pointed out that being a WASP (I'm not one) can help you decode what the speaker is saying. Perhaps more than any other reading, this one had a didactic tone that is often characteristic of Christmas stories.

I don't want to make this blog too long, so I'll leave it up to y'all to add as you see fit. But "Us & Them" provided the platform for April's story of how she and her brother spent Christmas giving away their presents after they disobeyed their mom who told them not to snoop around the house hunting for them. "6 to 8 Black Men" was a story that April and Bob had a copy of, but not the rest of us. This was another text w/ a WASPy tone. "Based on a True Story" was probably Sedaris' most overtly satirical piece, which seems to be the overarching purpose of this collection. 

Okay, I've obviously missed some things here, so feel free to grab your bullhorn and speak loudly about what you thought of our get together. 

Works Mentioned:

"A Modest Proposal:

Me Talk Pretty One Day

When We're Engulfed in Flames

Anchor Man

A Christmas Carol