THE WRITING WORKSHOP

David Sedaris, an American humorist, writer and best selling novelist, writes with an autobiographical style. Recently, one his books, “Me Talk Pretty Some Day,” was selected by the Vintage Book Club at my suggestion, which has resulted in a wave of anger against me for having committed this felony upon the members heads.
I consider the book to be hilarious, and apparently, 7 million other people did too. But here at Vintage, the tastes of some find blatant humor, humorless. In my defense, I have chosen a chapter in the book that I thought was funny, which concerns the author’s first job after graduating from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
Accepting a position as the teacher of a writing workshop, his experience there made me think of my experience with the Vintage Creative Writers Class, which has been rewarding and most pleasant. In contrast, Sedaris’ account of running the class was sidesplitting. His class of eight students included what was called a returning student, an older woman who took exception to his written evaluation of her submitted story. This was back in the sixties. She asked him, after gaining his attention and then lighting a cigarette, “Who are you. Just who in the hell are you to tell me that my story has no ending,
Sedaris responded, “Can I give you my answer tomorrow?” The woman persisted, wanting her answer right then and there. “No,” she barked, “I want to know now. Who do you think you are?” Sedaris answered, “Who am I? I am the only one in this class that is being paid.” Surprisingly the answer seemed to work, making him feel important for the first time, considering his answer a perfectly acceptable teaching philosophy.
He deepened his voice and said, “All right then, does anyone else have a stupid question for Mr. Sedaris?” The returning student, not to be outdone, raised her hand once more, noting, “It’s a personal question, I know, but just how much do they pay you?” Sedaris answered honestly, and for the first time since the class started, the students came together and laughed so hard that Sedaris had to run and shut the door so that the real teachers could continue with their work.
I attended the last Book Club class, finding two new members, Dale Wyatt and Edith Kantus nodding off, while the audio machine was cranking out one of the chapters. When it got to be 11:30 am, I made a move to leave for lunch, but Wyatt wanted to stay to discuss the book, which he declared to be awful and Edith agreed with him. I suggested that we have another meeting for a discussion, but Wyatt said we need to pick another book, one not on the NY Times best seller list.
So much for inviting new members. The regular members, Victoria and Martha, agreed with Wyatt, but Yuri was silent, as is her nature. Later at lunch, Wyatt brought up the subject, complaining that Tiffany had bought a whole box full of copies and what did she expect do with them since he was not going to buy one.
The incident reminded me of a guy I knew in the service. When I told him I was on my way to see such and such a movie, he declared that the book was better than the movie, but then admitted he hadn’t seen either of them.
The last book I recommended, “The Help,” a widely acclaimed work, which offered a serious description of what it was like growing up in the South in the Sixties, when efforts were being made to end segregation, that book was also condemned as a loser. It’s obvious that I never learns from experience, since I went right ahead and recommended what proved to be another “loser.” It makes it hard to belong to a group that seems to enjoy beating up its members.
Humor is such a personal thing. My father had a great sense of humor, but my mother never once laughed at his jokes, reacting, instead, as if he had embarrassed her with his conduct. Sedaris has won a great deal of fame for his brand of humor. The author first came to the attention of the public when he published “Santaland Diaries” about his experience as an elf at Macy’s during Xmas time. I would have to agree that it had funny parts, but I found his comic renditions a bit offensive, as I’m sure the other members of the book club do with the current selection/
Recently, Ricky Gervais hosted the Golden Globe Awards program, which was hard for me to take since I know longer really know who is who in Hollywood. Critics said his efforts were more of a roast than humor. My wife and I sat up many a night to watch Johnny Carson, but neither of us would bother with the current late night shows. It seems time has passed us by.
In defense of the Sedaris book we are now reading, one scene was so funny to me that I had to stop reading to catch my breath. Seems that David Sedaris’ sister, Amy, likes to pretend she is other people. A pretty woman, she was invited to sit for a camera take, but she arrived all messed up and asked that her face be made up to look as if she had suffered a beating. They gave her a black eye, swollen lips, a twisted-looking nose and deep scratches on her forehead. Later, when she entered a Laundromat, people were horrified at her appearance and tried not to look at her, but one curious, sympathetic lady approached to inquire what had happened. Amy turned to face her and cried, “I’m in love, I’m in love.”