My mentor, Theo Nestor, author of How to Sleep Alone in a King Sized Bed, says memoirs of famous people should not be considered the same genre as pensive, reflective books of virtually unknown writers. That may be true. Do we need call them “Memoirs F” (for famous people) and “Memoirs T” (for thoughtful works)? And yet, I’m including memoirs of famous people in my blog, if only for relief.
I have the amazing good fortune to live on a beautiful island where the sun rises over the Puget Sound, often rises over Mt Rainier, and deer roam, eating my few roses. I love my family. Like most Americans, I struggle to pay my bills, but if life were more perfect, I would tailspin into worry. I prefer to maintain this pleasant state of mind. Which is why, at times, I crave a respite from the gut wrenching memoirs. Tina Fey provides just such relief. Bossypants offers laughs where Map (see below) offers tears. While I’m riveted by Meredith Hall’s journey in the Middle East, I’m fascinated by how Tine Fey came be Sarah Palin.
Bossypants is not superbly written. It slides into preachy at times when discussing how women have historically been screwed as comedians and how gays deserve their rights. (Both are points I agree with, by the way.) But if you, like I, seek moments of surfacey fun, pick up Bossypants and enjoy.