Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Book Review: I Was Told There'd Be Cake

I recently finished Sloane Crosley’s book of essays entitled, “I Was Told There’d Be Cake.” I too am a twenty-something year old self-absorbed, middle-class woman who can relate to quite a few of Sloane’s shenanigans. Oh you know, the standard girl fare - first job with psycho, past her prime boss in much need of meds or retirement and let’s not forget the superficial, greedy, needy friends that come and go. I guarantee if you’ve spent any of your post-collegiate years in a major city (especially the Big Apple) you’ll catch yourself saying, “Chris I remember when I did that!” Yet, there were a few essays that upon finishing I asked myself what the hell was she getting at?

Crosley’s is an up and coming writer dripping in sarcasm and pessimism (totally my kind of gal), but a few of her analogies and unexpected adjectives lasted for two or three paragraphs completely losing sight of the humor it began with. Take for example the title. I have pondered back and forth as to what the analogy is. Maybe she’s the Queen of Westchester, sodden in self-entitlement comparing herself to Marie Antoinette. Or maybe to this suburbanite Manhattan isn’t all it is cracked up to be. Or quite possibly to deal with her neuroticism she relies on food.

Overall, Sloane Crosley's tone and style are quite similar to iconic writer David Sedaris. She's sarcastic, humorous and self-pillorying and, like Sedaris, she manages to balance essays that are laugh-out-loud page turners with others that are both poignant and resounding. Above all Crosley manages to take the minutiae of her life (something we can all relate to) and turn it into something worth reading. As HBO seems to think, Crosley could quite possibly be the next Carrier Bradshaw.

1 comment:

aaron said...

i hate to break it to you, but you've been gawkered. see here:

http://gawker.com/5039626/copycat-blogger-hate+loves-sloane-crosley

also, thank you for hating on wedge sandals. there are fewer things more unattractive than seeing a woman rock these bestial monstrosities.