David Sedaris (1956 - ) is American-born author who has several best-selling books, often autobiographical with pervasive dark humor. He began gaining recognition in 1992, published his first book (Barrel Fever) in 1994 and has continued since, traveling globally on lecture tours.
I have been steadily devouring David Sedaris's books since first reading Naked a year ago. I couldn't remember ever reading a book and actually laughing out loud, especially so hard and consistently. And for how many times I laugh, there are just as many when I'm simply blown away by the succint poignancy of a single line.
As a child, to deal with something difficult with humor felt wrong. It undoubtedly had something to do with Catholic guilt, but it took awhile for me to come to terms with my own dark humor. I still feel this tug in me, like hell might swallow me whole if I laugh at the wrong thing, but I also rely on it quite heavily. It's often that the only way I can deal with something, no matter how horrible, is to make jokes. To find a way to laugh at it.
David Sedaris is an eloquent vehicle for me to examine this and I mention him because I've started to see it show up in my work. It is something I would like to explore, possibly hone in on and apply more directly.
This particular paragraph from When You Are Engulfed in Flames hit me all over:
"A few months later a cage appeared on its doorsep. It was the type you might keep a rodent in, but instead of a guinea pig they use it to hold a pair of full grown magpies. Theyre good-sized birds - almost as tall as crows - and their quarters are much too small for them. Unlike parakeets, which will eventually settle down, the magpies are constantly searching for a way out, and move as if they are on fire, darting from one end of the cage to another and banging their heads against the wire ceiling. Their desperation is contagious, and watching them causes my pulse to quicken.
Being locked up is one thing, but to have no concept of confinement, to be ignorant of its terms and never understand that struggle is useless - that's what hell must be like. The magpies leave me feeling so depressed and anxious that I wonder how I can possibly make it the rest of the way home. I always do, though, and its always a welcome sight, especially lately. At around 7:00 the light settles on the western wall of our house, just catching two of the hijackers and a half-dozen singer-songwriters, who look out from the windows, some smiling, as if they are happy to see me, and others just staring into space, the way one might when listening to music, or waiting, half-heartedly, for something to happen (182)."
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