(Not my husband, who is forced by law and the threat of pop quizzes to endure my babblings? You probably just want to skip ahead to where I actually share my thoughts on the book.)
First of all, I wanted to parenthetically title this (A Review of The Bloggess' Book), but using only an s-apostrophe construction to show possession like I just did is sometimes controversial among people who worry about such things. Here in the States, where we have our own take on English, some people like to believe you can only do that it the possessor is plural. Or collective. And some people wig out if you do it at all.
My own (last) name ends in an /s/ so I figure I get to make an executive decision, and I don't like to write things like "Texas's best salsa Rosa's Fresh Salsa Verde from Austin." (Unless they stopped making it. No, even then.)
But at the same time, I want everyone of all punctuation persuasions to be happy! And also, I started typing this review (which, in my head, didn't start at all like this), and I couldn't remember if it was Blogess or Bloggess, which is dumb because the former looks like I tried to make a portmanteau of <i>noblesse oblige</i> but I had a cold and said it funny, and also maybe I took too much promethazine.
And all the while the above was happening, I was losing my reviewing mojo!
See, this is the third time I've won the monthly LibraryThing lottery of review copies. And the first two times? I didn't really like the books... which usually doesn't stop me from writing a review (see: all of Yelp. Or a jillion pages on this site back before it became all trip reports and cake decorating), but the authors seemed so nice. I didn't want to say, "Well, I was kind of bored, but maybe it was just me. Shrug."
But at the same time, if you don't review your Early Reviewers (no apostrophe because it's not possessive) copy, LibraryThing gently implies that disapproving algorithims will make it unlikely that you'll ever get another free book to review again.
So, I assumed I was on the PST - Proverbial Shit List. (I already knew I was on Pacific Standard Time.) So I couldn't believe it when, after entering the monthly giveaway on a "oh yeah, this thing" lark, I won.
And I not only won, but I won the Bloggess's's's book.
For this, we should start fresh. Ready? O- hold on.
Okay, so you know, I read the book two weeks ago, and even though I wrote and re-wrote the review in my head the entire time I was reading (in those versions I spoke at length about the experience of sitting in my parents' backyard and reading pages out loud to my mother, who has severe Alzheimer's but once upon a time would've/could've/should've been a huge Lawson fan, so maybe it's just as well that we've ended up obsessing over apostrophes here and not getting all sniffly), I'm just bad at timely reviewing.
But this was Jenny Lawson! So when I staggered out of bed at 4 a.m. this morning, all I could think about was how this review was HAPPENING. No breakfast until it's done! Let's Pretend This Never Happened is a deserving work of talent and joy!
Except fuck me if I can find where the "Write a Review" button is on the LibraryThing page. Is this something I'd have to renew my annual paid membership to do?
And I'm sorry about the language, but I'm super-hungry. Maybe I could suck on some Thai rice noodles straight from the box while I write?
No, a vow is a vow. So, here I am ironically not getting credit with LibraryThing, but happily writing the review on my own site, because this book - in the words of Ellen Cherry Charles - is a hill of fun.
So let's run back up to the top of the hill and try to ride this review sled again.
Fold on the line below and ignore all of the above. Here comes the review proper:
When the UPS guy showed up, did his nano-knock, and started running back to the truck, as is the maddening way of all delivery folk around these parts, I happened to be by the upstairs window and, like a bawdy fishwife or just a crankpot sitting at her crafting table and failing to make swirled drop flowers out of electric blue buttercream, slung it open and yelled, "Do you need me to sign something?!"
Mr. UPS made a thumbs-up gesture and kept walking. Wait, did that mean yes? And was he trying to escape anyway? Brazen! So I yelled down again and... oh God, let's just get to the part where I'm downstairs and picking up this intrusive package that appears to be from Some Publisher. Great. I probably won a LibraryThing Early Reviewers copy of something. Why did I even sign up? I'm such a tool.
OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG!
Run upstairs. Open Facebook. Write on Jenny's wall... something about twirling around too hard to actually read...
"Hold on," you may say. "Is this author a friend of yours? Did it just take you 757 words to disclose your conflict of interest?"
Oh, I wish! Think of all the magical times we'd spend not hanging out with each other because we both have some degree of social anxiety disorder, or as normal people call it, "being a jerkface." Except I'm sure nobody every calls Jenny Lawson a jerkface when she doesn't want to go to their party or meet strangers for drinks, at least not since the Beyonce post burned a iron-feathered trail across the Internet. It even showed up on beloved MetaFilter, which I'm not going to link because it was the one time I was strongly disappointed in about half of MetaFilter, who chose to be a bunch of jerkfaces who can't see that Jenny and Victor have a special and enduring kind of love, and she really isn't torturing him with giant metal chickens... at least not by design.
"Okaaaay," you may draw out in your thoughtful and wary manner. "You're just a fan. Even though she once directly tweeted her regrets to you when you suggested a Las Vegas fan meetup. And apparently you were secretly glad to not have to actually go, relieved that you were able to pay the compliment of suggesting a get together without having to follow through. But that's another issue."
Exactly. And I've been a fan since long before Beyonce - as have many people; I'm not trying to put on hipster airs. (Best joke in 2012 so far, heard from Mike: "Why did the hipster burn her mouth on the pizza? Because she ate it before it was cool.")
I'm just saying that, as a fan from way back (who doesn't always get around to reading all of Lawson's stuff every week these days, but it makes me happy to know it's online, waiting), the bar was set high.
I didn't want to set the bar high. Lawson seems to be a kindred spirit and a kind one, and she's the last person to deserve unreasonable expectations, but I couldn't help it. I enjoy her writing so much that, if this book proved to be just a rehash or a toned-down mess made more palatable for a non-blog audience, I was going to have some harsh words.
Example: I've been bagging on Stevie Nicks for almost ten years now, and I love Stevie Nicks. But her stiff, spoken-word raspings in the annoyingly coy and thinly veiled autobiographical third person of the last decade are shit, and she is a caricature of her former self, and that's that. Yeah, she's breathtakingly talented and beautiful and whatnot, but still. She needs a a velvet jetpack to reach the bar I've set for her.
And while I wouldn't talk smack about The Bloggess like that here, it could certainly happen on my sofa or in my kitchen. And I didn't want that. The book could have killed everything.
But, again, because Jenny Lawson is funny and relatable and made of gum drops pooped by discerning pegasi who are airlifting orphans out of mine fields, and the gum drops are never a nasty licorice flavour, I read the book.
Oh wait, I didn't just read it, I packed it in a suitcase and took it to Texas.
To repeat and to clarify: I packed it in a suitcase and took it to Texas, via Spirit airlines.
You know, where you pay for each piece of luggage, so every inch of carry-on space must be carefully planned? I could've waited four days to read it, enjoying my Kindle while in Texas and not fussing with bits of dead tree flopping all over the place. But no, I packed it in a suitcase and took it to Texas. Insert a mercury-bursting piece of thermometer clip art here because my already high expectations just broke through the top of the charts.
Why? Because Jenny Lawson is a funny, funny person whose writing is also very warm and human.
I love how she can write some things without further explanation (unlike some of us, sigh), even when you're dying to hear the backstory on whatever passing fact she just threw out (there's always the next book), but when she does digress, it's always a romp. Your brain will feel like it's been sipping Meyer lemon moonshine with its pinky finger out, maybe while riding in the back of a truck and wearing a green pirate hat with a pink tulle skirt. I don't know what that means. It just sounds like you'd be laughing out loud while doing it. Like I did while reading the book.
As Lawson might say, "Literal LOL, y'all."
(Yes, that's it. I'm starving!)