Skip to main content

About Books

 Roz Chast is in the news because she is releasing a book about her dreams; this led me to explore "What I Hate" and "The Party, After You Left."


"What I Hate" won't become immortal; Chast is just clearing her throat here. (I do like her rant about the color yellow. "It's the worst of the primary colors; it's often either sickly or aggressively cheery. There are certain pale, pale variants that I can tolerate--but not many.")

The stronger book is "The Party, After You Left." Here, Chast recites the fake names of bots that send her "spam" solicitation emails. "Martin Norblast." "Trudi LaRue." "Sidy Tarroae." Chast invents a personality and backstory for each name. Also, Chast imagines one block in NYC--a series of storefronts offering "buttons," "ice skating supplies," "ventriloquism school," "snaps 'n' more." (That's actually New York; the cartoon is somehow more truthful than many, many realist photographs of New York.)

Above all, I love the series entitled "Mixed Marriage," in which two strong personalities attempt to share one home. Like many other Americans, I feel that Chast has direct access to the contents of my own heart. In one cartoon, Spouse A complains about a new bowl of grapes: "They're too bursty. The skin-to-guts ratio is off. I can just see the farmer thinking, I'LL GROW A GRAPE AS LARGE AS AN APPLE....and this saddens me...."

Spouse B could say, "You're so nutty, and it's charming!" But Spouse B hasn't slept well; perhaps his toddler is coping with new molars. So Spouse B extends his claws: "The grapes are too large? That right there makes me doubt EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVER SAID."

And we're off to the races. It's a work of art.







Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...
2 comments
Read more

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...
Post a Comment
Read more