By the Sea David Sedaris reads at the Garde behind ‘Calypso’
Folks who earn a living making people laugh probably never regard a sense of humor as a resource that, with age and perspective, might shift in one fundamental fashion or another. Or — worse — dry up like some rare mineral deposit.
This is largely true of the hilarious essayist/diarist David Sedaris. Now 61 and the author of 11 books of astute, gleefully and frequently dark observations, including “Me Talk Pretty One Day,” “Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk,” “Theft by Finding” and “Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls,” Sedaris is oft-inspired to write through the prism of his own family and experiences.
This is true in his upcoming book, “Calypso,” out on May 18, though there’s a new tone of wizened melancholy to the work. This does not translate to “not funny.” Oh, no. “Calypso” is hysterical — as fans will experience first-hand Saturday when Sedaris appears in New London’s Garde Arts Center.
It’s also not a coincidence that many of the essays in “Calypso” take place at The Sea Section, a beach house he purchased on coastal South Carolina — and, yes, The Sea Section is a vintage-Sedaris pun on the cutesy nicknames folks give to their boats and homes in ocean-front settings. The vacation spot serves as a rendezvous spot for Sedaris’ large family, a clan that has been chronicled, analyzed and celebrated throughout his work. It’s a large group that includes sister/ actress/writer Amy, his father, more siblings and their spouses and children, and Sedaris’ own husband, Hugh. Any or all might be in attendance at The Sea Section at any point.
Sedaris’ mother, who died in 1991, and a sister, Tiffany, who committed suicide in 2013, are missing, but they’re remembered throughout “Calypso.”
But Sedaris also spins his thoughts on a variety of topics inspired by or extending beyond family — a small list would include litter, an old turtle, amateur surgery, comfy coulottes, and a spot-on list of words and phrases Sedaris would outlaw if given the power to do so.
On a recent transatlantic phone call to his home in England, Sedaris was thoughtful, as funny as one would expect, and genuinely solicitous in a fashion that transformed an interview into a warm, two-sided conversation. Here are excerpts, edited for space.
Q: It seems like Sea Section, and the family gatherings therein, serves as a thematic headquarters for much of the work in “Calypso.” Is that true and, if so, was it by design?
A: What I think really happened was that I ended up with two or three stories about what was happening at Sea Section and decided I wanted to do more. Nothing big happens there — it’s just hanging out with family — but it’s my job to make something out of nothing! There’s a sort of shorthand to it because I know them all so well. I don’t have to go through a lot of work. We just do what we do, and I write about it.
Q: As we age, the cumulative nature of loss and tragedy comes into play. There’s an air of melancholy in “Calypso” — though admittedly hilarious melancholy. Do you find it therapeutic to bring humor into writing about those situations?
A: I’ve never found writing therapeutic except in my diary, and then it’s just to immediately process things as they happen. (Journal entries) help me make sense of the world. Maybe I just don’t like the word “therapeutic.” I don’t know. When my sister committed suicide, well, of course I’m going to write about it because I need to make sense of it in some way. I don’t know how people who don’t write about such things possibly process them. Not that I fixed it, because not a day goes by I don’t think about it. But it seems like writing to process something is different than writing as therapy.
Q: Music and reading one’s books aloud are obviously two different dynamics. But with all of the very successful material you have, do you ever feel pressured to trot out a sort of “greatest hits” set of essays or even just encore with something from “Santaland Diaries”?
A: The short answer is no. I make a list of everything I read and where I read it. I can tell you everything I’ve ever read in Phoenix, for example.
Part of the problem with reading older stuff is that I still see bad word choices and pages that should have been edited. Even “Calypso.” By now I’ve read everything in it hundreds of times. I just read the audiobook, and it’s become a chore. So I don’t want the audience to become sick of something if I do it over and over again whenever I read. I want to keep it fresh. Q: Do people ever call out requests? A: Now and then someone will call out (arguably his most famous piece) “Santaland.” But I just say A) it’s July and B) that was 25 years ago and C) I would never read that anymore. Ever.
In terms of appearances, I DO think it would be funny to be that guy who just keeps going. Just keeps reading. I did an appearance in Germany with another writer, and he came onstage with a bottle of whiskey, and he did that. I don’t speak any German, and every once in a while, he would stop and talk about me — I could understand my name — and everyone would laugh, so I guess that was good. But he drank the whole bottle, and we were there three hours. Part of me wanted someone in the audience, when it was finally over, to call out, “More! One more!”
Q: It’s said that Groucho Marx used to send newspaper clippings to friends of screwed-up or asinine things. And he’d just scribble the addendum, “See what a stupid world this is?” Does that sense of amused disdain at all mirror what you try to do with your essays?
A: I’m not sure. I mean, I think I write in a bigger context than just to isolate something stupid. Having said that, I’m always on the lookout as I go through my day, and my greatest hope is that I come across some sort of idiocy.
Q: In that spirit, does the current political situation here in America give you more material for satire — or just depress you?
A: I think what we have here that’s different than what you’re experiencing is distance. (Sedaris and his husband lived in Paris for years and now reside in England.) Right now, Rick, you’re like a frog in a pan of slowly boiling water, and every day it gets hotter. I hate to say this, but to read the paper and listen to the news is just relentless and exhausting. What we do — and maybe it’s easier over here — is to stop listening and reading for a few weeks, and it feels like going on vacation.
As for your question about how it affects my writing, well, you have to laugh at what a buffoon Trump is, but he’s also a buffoon with an insane amount of power. Nothing I can say or write would be anything that hasn’t been said or written before. I like to look to Samantha Bee for a fresh take on those things. She does a good job of laughing through the pain. I don’t know: here’s a man, the president of the United States, and he tells Andrew McCabe to ask (Mrs. McCabe) what it’s like to be married to a loser. I guess there’s not much funny about a fundamentally awful human being, and I’m puzzled by people who don’t have a problem with that.
Q: On a brighter note, in the midst of your upcoming tour, you’re scheduled to give your fourth commencement address, this time at Oberlin. How’s the preparation for that going?
A: On tour, I can fine-tune my readings of new material from night to night and eventually get it right. You don’t have that opportunity with a commencement speech. I didn’t do too well the first time out. I wanted the graduates to feel positive about themselves, and I reflected on my own self-image at that age.
I said, “You maybe think you’re not that attractive, but you are. You’re lovely! You’re 22 years old, and you’re young and vibrant, and you should just go out and have as much sex as you can!”
And that didn’t go over too well, which I could see when I looked out at the audience and saw a lot of parents and grandparents and children. But I was trying to be positive and give good advice. And I think it WAS good advice but ...
So now I’ll try to do better when I speak at Oberlin, but, I mean, what have I really learned that would be helpful? When I was at The Sea Section the last time, I went for a walk on the beach just to think about what I’ve learned that I could convey to young people — and I got back and wrote it down and looked at it. “You need to be careful with scented candles.” And I thought, “That’s all I have?”
Q: You read your work aloud during appearances. In somewhat similar fashion, standup comedians describe the process of writing jokes, which then undergo evolutions in delivery based on rhythm, pacing and flow onstage. Does that resonate with you?
A: One thing I noticed in that regard is that I like Bill Maher a lot, and nine times out of 10, when I quote him, I get it wrong. If you get the word order or rhythm wrong, it doesn’t work. It’s integral. I think, “How long did it take him to get that right?”
Another thing is that, if you’re a comic, you can change one word tomorrow, and I wonder how they keep track of it. For me, it’s pretty easy because I just change the word on paper. But it’s also true I’m starting a new tour and, as I said earlier, it always takes a while to figure out how to read the new stuff. The urge is, if it doesn’t work well immediately, to throw it away. I have to trust a bigger instinct to try it again till I get it right.