![Okay, so I like books. I really like books. Like a lot. So much so that I have a bachelor’s in reading and writing (NB: English). This obviously means I have a secret desire to write. Okay, not so secret desire. At any rate, when I picked up Sloane Crosley’s book, I Was Told There Would Be Cake, I was thrilled. I bought it because it mentioned food in the title. That, and the fact that she was likened to both David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell, two of my favorite memorists/creative nonfiction writers.
I settled into reading the thing, and I found myself identifying with her writing — to an extent. I don’t think I’m nearly as self-interested as her, but what person under 30 isn’t completely self-absorbed? I dunno. It was funny in spots, but not as consistently funny as Sedaris or Vowell. I only chuckled at her acknowledgment to her family at the end, because my family is the same.
Ultimately, I find myself whole-heartedly agreeing with Dale Mackey’s evaluation: “[T]he bigger take home is that Crosley’s wit is just a little too witty. She seems so pleased with herself throughout the whole book, and while she mercilessly pokes fun at herself and her own inadequacies, she manages to be completely smug while doing it. Nowhere in the book does she betray a sense of vulnerability. Her wit gets in the way of me really caring about her. “](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l2xtsn4OGs1qboumfo1_500.jpg)
Okay, so I like books. I really like books. Like a lot. So much so that I have a bachelor’s in reading and writing (NB: English). This obviously means I have a secret desire to write. Okay, not so secret desire. At any rate, when I picked up Sloane Crosley’s book, I Was Told There Would Be Cake, I was thrilled. I bought it because it mentioned food in the title. That, and the fact that she was likened to both David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell, two of my favorite memorists/creative nonfiction writers.
I settled into reading the thing, and I found myself identifying with her writing — to an extent. I don’t think I’m nearly as self-interested as her, but what person under 30 isn’t completely self-absorbed? I dunno. It was funny in spots, but not as consistently funny as Sedaris or Vowell. I only chuckled at her acknowledgment to her family at the end, because my family is the same.
Ultimately, I find myself whole-heartedly agreeing with Dale Mackey’s evaluation: “[T]he bigger take home is that Crosley’s wit is just a little too witty. She seems so pleased with herself throughout the whole book, and while she mercilessly pokes fun at herself and her own inadequacies, she manages to be completely smug while doing it. Nowhere in the book does she betray a sense of vulnerability. Her wit gets in the way of me really caring about her. “
