What do You think about SantaLand Diaries (2015)?
My introduction to Sedaris was via my great friend, Craig. At the time the author was reading the SantaLand Diaries on NPR; we would listen on our respective drives home from AULA and then rehash all the crazy stories and images the next day, sometimes laughing so hard that tears rolled down our cheeks. The book (a slim one) was funny in its way but could not really equal Sedaris's dry humour on air. As we approach Christmas, I really suggest you get a copy of the tapes from NPR archives, failing that then go for a very funny read.
—Frances Sawaya
Read. Re-read. Re-re-read. And on and on and on. I think I have a problem with this essay. That's the only point on which my doctor and shrink agree. They suggested me to rehab. I tried.I found a job. The more you work the less you think. That's what I thought before thinking less. The job was great and satisfactory. I gave leaflets on the streets dressed like a french fry. The kind of job someone could kill to don't have one. Yet, I found more than a job. I found feelings. I fell in love with a nice girl. I met her on the threshold of a Mexican restaurant. She was unforgettable in her beautiful Taco costume. We dated several times. We liked each other. We were made for each other.And yet in a couple of weeks she broke my fried heart. She left me for a Camcorder dressed man. His name was Olympus. He used to work on the other side of the road, advertising for a shopping mall. He was closer to her place than me. The Taco girl -that lousy bitch- told me how she needed to focus more on her life, looking at it from different perspectives. "You know, Olympus is the right person for helping me in that process". That's what she told me. I nodded in that reflective and well mannered way a sad french fry is supposed to do. I quit the job. Afterwards nothing had changed. And that's why I keep on reading the Diaries. I still dream of elves. I need to sit on Santa's lap asking for a woman. Everybody loves Satan.
—Lorenzo Berardi
My third book by David Sedaris (following Me Talk Pretty One Day and Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim) and my first disappointment. The back cover of the book inaccurately labels this as memoir, when in fact only two of the six stories are auto-biographical – and, tellingly, those two are the only ones I really enjoyed. Sedaris really should stick with non-fiction, which he writes with flair, humor and poignancy, whereas his fiction sections tend to be so over-the-top and garish that they resemble sketches from a TV series. An especially tiresome chapter is "Season’s Greetings to Our Friends and Family!!!", written in the style of one of those ghastly round robin newsletters received at Christmas. The novelty wears off quickly. By contrast, "SantaLand Diaries" and "Dinah, the Christmas Whore", which tell of Sedaris’ actual experiences and observations, are funny and truthful. But 67 pages out of 138 isn’t an especially high success rate even in such a slim volume. I’d recommend You Better Not Cry: Stories for Christmas by Augusten Burroughs for a better selection of seasonal related laughter
—Daniel Parsons
