They’d always had a contentious relationship that in David’s youth sometimes edged into abuse.Īs Lou ages into his 90s, growing more cheerful by the day, he moves into assisted living, where his son’s first visit leads to a ridiculous case of mistaken identity. One is his growing sense of frustration at his father’s longevity. Much of Sedaris’ humor comes from saying the quiet parts out loud - writing frankly about things most of us never mention. “A friend will call drunk, wanting a ride, and I’ll say, ‘Honey, I got my bra off. (”What you do is unhook it in the back and then pull it out your sleeve.”)Īnd that removal of the bra signals the end of the day’s responsibility, as one fan tells him. On one tour, it was stories about something that was a flabbergasting discovery for him: that many women are so eager to take off their bras after work that they remove them in the car or, in the case of one woman he talks to, on the bus. He asks fans to tell him stories, and often, he writes, themes develop. He is thrilled to return to touring and to his legendary book signings, which can last up to 10 hours. “Without a live audience,” he writes, “that unwitting congregation of fail-safe editors - I’m lost.”
Not only did canceling more than a year of touring put a dent in his income, it left him feeling displaced from himself. Someone whose job, and joy, is telling stories in front of audiences can’t work from home. The pandemic turned Sedaris’ life upside down.
He’s mined the humor in taxidermy, museums of medical oddities and tales of unusual deaths throughout his 10 previous books and his hugely popular performances.ĭeath takes no holidays in his new collection of essays, “Happy-Go-Lucky.” Whether he’s writing about his experiences during the COVID pandemic or the slow decline of his fractious father, he’s whistling past the graveyard ― but still hilarious. David Sedaris’ work has always had a macabre edge.
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