No offense, me, but if we ever resort to reading books that are a lot like our life, let’s just take a full bottle Vicodin and fall asleep forever.
Sloane Crosley does not write fiction, and for the record (in case she catches wind of me one day), I’m in no way saying the two of us are alike. Though we’re about the same age, she’s a Jewish girl from New England, for one, and well, she’s a published author, for another.
This book of non-fiction essays doesn’t remind me of my life. But her voice reminds me of my voice, and her attitude reminds me of my attitude, and probably if we met in real life, we’d secretly hate each other.
She’s one of the few authors who managed to publish something in her 20’s that isn’t completely idiotic. Though Dave Eggars could also be put into this category, I even got annoyed/bored half way through his manifesto. Sloane did not bore me, and managed to keep me laughing until the end. My two favorite essays in this collection are of course the one about her experience at an all girls Christian summer camp, and her take on being a maid of honor.
It was refreshing to know that I haven’t been alone in my utter inability to connect to any and all things wedding. And I’m married, for crying out loud.
She’s funny. I like her. Her writing reeks of the same innocent and humorous take on everyday circumstances that I wish I could summon within myself with more regularity.