"Wow, No Thank You"

Samantha Irby had a traumatic childhood. At one point, she alludes to multiple men dying in her childhood basement. Also, she spent time in a crack house. (She corrects herself; she feels it wasn't really a crack house, but maybe just a retreat for people who enjoyed crack? I'm not sure I have the right distinction here.)

Irby's unusual gift is that she can write about this sort of thing without even a hint of self-pity; she describes tough times, and the ensuing depression, with clear eyes and even an occasional shrug. She has something in common with Augusten Burroughs.

Irby's new book lists the kinds of questions you might have if you're an anxious person feeling not quite at home on this planet. (I fit in that group, so I was charmed.) The questions: If you move into a house, do you have to wash the *outside* of the house? Do people wash their walls? If you find yourself working at a fancy company, can you be honest and write "Hostess low-fat cherry-chocolate cupcake" on the communal snack-request list? Or should you stick with pretzels and Diet Coke?

Is it OK to have few or zero career ambitions?

Is there--somewhere--a community of people who remember fondly and feel a debt to the three-season nineties sitcom "Herman's Head"?

Is it best to go through life hoping that--at any given event--at the very least no one will be murdered....so that, when you get through an event and there aren't any (new) corpses, you can always smile and say, WHOA, that wasn't so bad!!!! --??

I really liked this book. I did think the observational humor ("minutiae are fascinating!") sometimes dragged on a bit long. But Samantha Irby knows what she is doing, and the book builds to a kind of stealthy and profound climax, where Irby does deliver a major (and covert) message. She is talking about writing for the show "Shrill." Irby's assignment was to chart the protagonist's shift from weak-self-loathing-wallflower to competent-tough-minor-superhero status. And Irby did this with a simple idea--an idea that made waves in pop culture. Irby had the protagonist attend a "fat babe pool party." Here, people wandered around in their actual bodies, they displayed their bodies, and they were part of a group and without shame. The party allowed the protagonist to step outside herself and feel "connected" -- and a seemingly-small thing thus changed one life.

Because Irby writes with such astringency ("People are garbage, and living is trash"), I imagine she could pull off a potentially-sentimental script without making any viewers groan or roll their eyes. (I haven't seen the episode.)

The pool party is a metaphor for Irby's career: Irby writes about shame and anxiety and mental illness with who-gives-a-fuck candor, and she does this so that you, the reader, can feel a bit freer in your *own* life. I doubt Irby would ever spell this out on the page, but that's the subtextual power of the book.

I particularly liked the account of Irby's writing life. In middle school, it seems clear that Irby was hanging by a thread, and a smart teacher cornered her and made her write, and write, and write. No shock: Young Irby was drawn to horror tales. (Irby has acknowledged a deep interest in Stephen King.) Writing about gross and shocking and distressing events helped Irby to keep her head above water.

I recommend this book. I'm curious to see where Irby is headed next.