August 8, 2016
Caldwell (Women) brings an intelligent, confessional voice to this entertaining collection of personal essays about adolescence and young adulthood. She reports on her youthful hijinks involving fake ads on Craigslist, on drinking and shoplifting, the thrill of getting her driver’s license, her roles in school plays, and hitchhiking in Europe. She writes about the “enormous anxiety” she harbored in her 20s and drifting from one job interview to the next. Earnest self-indulgence lies heavily on these pages, with references to Caldwell’s “gluten-free high horse,” and her own hotness. She points to “making kale chips dentist appointments” as markers of maturity and includes lists of tedious details (“in no particular order, here are some foods I’ve binged on”), which playfully convey her unrepentant self-awareness. Like in her last collection, Legs Get Led Astray, Caldwell writes about her life with warmth, humor, and not a trace of apology—only this time around the stories are tamer. Agent: Chelsea Lindman, Greenburger Associates.
A major progression finds an essayist outgrowing her self-indulgence.On earlier book tours, Caldwell (Women, 2014, etc.) admits, she fortified her confidence by doing heroin before readings, and in the earlier pieces in her latest collection, she seems to revel in some of the less-prudent choices she has made over the years--e.g., binging on drugs, soliciting strange men for steak and bourbon on Craigslist, and taking advantage of her employer's trust. "The cycle went like this: The worse my skin got, the more stressed I felt and the more heroin I would buy," she writes. "The more heroin I snorted, the worse my skin would get and the more stressed I would become." Throughout, the author's confessionalism has an engagingly conversational tone, yet the shock-value solipsism gives way to a stylistic maturity in which the author seems to develop command over her material, resulting in a subtlety lacking in the earlier pieces of the book. Particularly moving is "The Music & the Boys," in which bonding with male friends, even occasionally flirting with romance, helps her deal with her parents' separation. "Maybe I didn't think I had the right to admit I was sad," she reflects on her younger self. Even better is "Maggie and Me: A Love Story," about the friendship and mentoring Caldwell experienced with the late writer Maggie Estep and the depth of her loss. As the author deals with sexual fluidity and confusion ("The Laziest Coming Out Story You've Ever Heard"), she addresses her developing sense of identity in a way that the younger writer never bothered. She ends the collection sleeping on the floor of Penn Station after an extended visit to Berlin. "I was almost home," she writes. "I was getting closer to knowing what that meant." A transitional work that suggests Caldwell has even better books to come. COPYRIGHT(1) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
September 1, 2016
Caldwell's slender, new collection of essays, following Legs Get Led Astray (2012), is built around formative moments from her twenties that will strike a chord with those who have struggled (or are struggling) to find firm footing as adults. At first, this seems like standard fare, with accounts of youthful experiences marked by alcohol, drugs, or questionable decisions, but a shift occurs around the halfway point, as a subtle maturity creeps into the writing. The essay Failing Singing discusses how singing used to be an important part of Caldwell's life, yet it was her first public reading as a writer where she truly found her voice. She shares the important friendships that have helped her on her way to becoming a fully formed person, particularly those described in Sisterless and Maggie and Me: A Love Story. While details are often heaped into list-like paragraphsand in one instance an actual bulleted listit's within these specifics that readers are most likely to recognize bits of themselves and form a connection with Caldwell's stories.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2016, American Library Association.)
August 15, 2016
A major progression finds an essayist outgrowing her self-indulgence.On earlier book tours, Caldwell (Women, 2014, etc.) admits, she fortified her confidence by doing heroin before readings, and in the earlier pieces in her latest collection, she seems to revel in some of the less-prudent choices she has made over the yearse.g., binging on drugs, soliciting strange men for steak and bourbon on Craigslist, and taking advantage of her employers trust. The cycle went like this: The worse my skin got, the more stressed I felt and the more heroin I would buy, she writes. The more heroin I snorted, the worse my skin would get and the more stressed I would become. Throughout, the authors confessionalism has an engagingly conversational tone, yet the shock-value solipsism gives way to a stylistic maturity in which the author seems to develop command over her material, resulting in a subtlety lacking in the earlier pieces of the book. Particularly moving is The Music & the Boys, in which bonding with male friends, even occasionally flirting with romance, helps her deal with her parents separation. Maybe I didnt think I had the right to admit I was sad, she reflects on her younger self. Even better is Maggie and Me: A Love Story, about the friendship and mentoring Caldwell experienced with the late writer Maggie Estep and the depth of her loss. As the author deals with sexual fluidity and confusion (The Laziest Coming Out Story Youve Ever Heard), she addresses her developing sense of identity in a way that the younger writer never bothered. She ends the collection sleeping on the floor of Penn Station after an extended visit to Berlin. I was almost home, she writes. I was getting closer to knowing what that meant. A transitional work that suggests Caldwell has even better books to come.
COPYRIGHT(2016) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.