Author Jenny Lawson’s ‘Broken’ finds light through the cracks
Not quite midway through Jenny Lawson’s “Broken (in the best possible way),” the author, humorist, blogger and bookseller does something unthinkable: She hands over 15 pages of her book — an increasingly scarce entity created from formerly real live trees — to other people.
Lawson titles the chapter, “Awkwarding Brings Us Together,” and it begins with a tweet she sent into the world: “Airport cashier: ‘Have a safe flight.’ Me: ‘You too!’ I CAN NEVER COME HERE AGAIN.”
The 15 pages of responses, from other people who found themselves blurting strange responses to simple prompts, captures the vibe Lawson has managed over 15 years to harness and turn into a empathetic community. “Broken” beautifully captures the idea that in our silliest, dumbest, most human moments — those of peak vulnerability — we’re simply doing the best we can, and those instances, while sometimes embarrassing, are ultimately relatable.
“I had thousands, and they were all so, so good,” Lawson says of the responses to her airport experience. “So picking just 100 was a struggle. Some made me cry, some made me laugh, and most made me cry with laughter. I reached out to so many to see if I could use them,
and not a single person said no. Every single person … so that became a great story. And I figured I needed to celebrate it in the book. To take some of these embarrassing things we see as monsters and turn them into something we celebrate.”
Personal monsters
Monsters bear mention because the cover of “Broken” finds Lawson clutching a horrible, adorable creature under its front legs/arms. The fanged beast has a mouthful of flowers. And her grip captures it upper-midthorax, but there’s a lot of twisty, turny beast below capable of creating energy and torque to escape her clutches. Sometimes, even with a strong grip, it can be difficult to hold onto something that isn’t designed to be held.
That image — a twisting infant of a monster — summarizes the content of the bestselling books Lawson has written over the past nine years, an outgrowth of writing she did for a quietly and then formidably reverent readership for her blogs going back to 2009. Lawson’s frankness about depression, mental illness, anxiety and other monsters typically relegated to the basement endeared her to a following that isn’t easily quantified, but it’s clearly in the millions.
“I think we’re in such a better spot now, when it comes to openness about so many things that were extremely uncomfortable before,” she says. “Things that always had a stigma. We’re more comfortable with being uncomfortable. And the more you talk about it, the less there is reason for stigma. So 10, 12, 14 years ago, writing about mental illness was different than today. I don’t feel like I’m 1 in 10,000. I feel like I’m 1 in 20 or 1 in 4. And I’m comfortable saying things out loud. I just feel lucky I’m in a position to share that and to get this feedback from other people dealing with the same things.”
Connecting with readers
Lawson’s reach has always emanated from Texas. She’s a Wall native. Wall is fairly centrally located in Texas, though on a map it looks like a place that is hedging its bets nudging westward, with escape routes to the north and west. It seems a perfect place for anyone who always keeps an eye on exits. Her Good Mom/Bad Mom blog for the Houston Chronicle was an early notice that Lawson wrote fearlessly about familial minutia regarded too long in murmured tones. A jittery sense of humor and a transparency into parts of her life fueled a dedicated readership that devoured her books.
Today, her Twitter following is testament to a new media success story. Her books — big sellers, no doubt — are a byproduct of the way Lawson connects more instantly and intimately with people who don’t traffic in paper products.
From her blog and tweeting, she finds ideas for the books; there are four now.
“I never really know what a book might be until I start to work with four or five stories, and then maybe I see a theme,” she says. “Then I work with my editor and try to find a happy place where it feels like a place of learning. And maybe it lets other people feel heard, and at the same time, to laugh about things. Maybe you can judge yourself with me as the barometer. That was always the goal: for people to read and think, ‘Oh, OK, I’m not as messed up as that.’ But also to let everybody know that our messed up parts can be quite lovely.”
The pieces in “Broken” can be called essays. But they do serve a larger whole. There’s a connectivity in them, from lighter pieces to others touching on her experience with transcranial magnetic stimulation, a procedure she documents without holding back commentary about the process or results. She says the books often form from “nuggets that I feel I can move and change into something that allows me to go deeper.”
Good and bad days
“Broken” includes a, well, broken dove. The moment at the airport and numerous narratives in which Lawson’s husband, Victor, plays the straight man amid the chaos. Lawson’s stories resonate with both sides in a relationship. If an electric toothbrush fails to function, is it just a regular toothbrush? “Broken” provides both sides. It also delves into “butthole smears.” A lot of ground gets covered emotionally and anatomically. And socially.
Her piece, “Introverts Unite!” asks a question: “You’ve arrived at a party but no one you know is there yet. You: A. Request a great song and start a line dance. B. Find a dog to talk to. C. Have a fight with an imaginary person on your phone so that the strangers, who haven’t even noticed that you are there, will think you have a good reason to leave. D.
This is a trick question. You would never go to a party.”
Each of the answers is valid, though three resonate more with those who prefer to avoid social situations, even after a yearlong pandemic. And only one truly resonates.
Lawson says she has good and bad days after a year locked inside. On one hand, she says “10 percent of me misses having a margarita in a restaurant. Then there’s the other 90 percent …”
She mentions social activities, like a walk with her father. “I still played a podcast loudly. I thought we could walk together but listen to a podcast. Walking and true crime!”
Lawson also runs a bookstore in San Antonio, which was an ill-timed endeavor. “It’s definitely the longest running bookstore that has never opened its doors,” she says. “We have great people working there. They’re working in the prettiest warehouse that looks like a bookstore.”
Her affinity for taxidermy has permeated the store, even if people can’t really appreciate it yet. Annetelope Boleyn is there, waiting for the person who named it to arrive.
“She’s one of the more recent ones, though one that I got before the pandemic,” Lawson says. “She’s a little old and falling apart. So I had to dress her up in a full costume. She has a headdress, beaded necklaces. Annetelope Boleyn! There’s a little plaque for her. She’s in the store. And I think she’s where she belongs.”