My Review of My Autobiography

Just Life: Memories of One Bro’s Existence, 1982-2015. By Oliver Lee Bateman (Self-published, 2015). Pp. 312. Electronic, $24.95

As America’s resident expert in the growing field of myself, I was excited to see the publication of Oliver Lee Bateman’s narrative of his life to date. “Now Oliver Lee Bateman: there’s a name I know!” I exclaimed, eagerly diving into the review copy I had provided to me. However, my excitement turned to disappointment as I slogged my way through this tedious collection of family photos, childhood writing samples, term papers, e-mails, tweets, and Instagram uploads. All memoirs are exercises in narcissism, with the author presuming that he or she is an important enough personage to write about, but at least some memoirs introduce readers to worlds beyond their own. Just Life, on the other hand, consisted of little besides hackneyed, predictable plot devices. It (almost) goes without saying that I’d encountered it all before.

In spite of that, a few sections warrant mention. The seventh chapter, “Amounts I Have Weighed,” takes us on a journey through Bateman’s various weights, with special attention paid to the years 2004 (when he yo-yoed between 185 pounds and 240 pounds) and 2006 (when the author, on a quest to eat twenty Burger King Quad Stackers in a single sitting, reached an all-time high of 265 pounds). “What I think is most interesting about weight,” Bateman writes, “is how much it can fluctuate. First I weighed this much, and then, as circumstances changed, I wound up weighing either more or less.”

“The LiveJournal Years” chronicles a handful of unconsummated romances that played out entirely via comments made to Bateman’s pseudonymous Xanga and LiveJournal blogs during the early part of the 21st century. And “Some OKCupid Ghostings,” though dense and probably only of interest to Bateman specialists like me, recounts the myriad one-and-done dating experiences of 2008-2009; I had forgotten that Allison F. and Bateman had met for coffee at Mocha Envy on August 6, 2008, and it was nice to realize that those 45 minutes of idle chitchat served some greater narrative purpose. Bateman’s two-date romance with Allison M. was equally scintillating, as evidenced by hot text such as “hey did you like that date?”, “yeah it was ok,” and “maybe i’ll c u when i c u” (which would make for a great title to an Usher song, bee-tee-dubs).

“Helpful Hints” offers readers a taste of Bateman’s hard-earned, homespun wisdom. Apropos cutting costs at the 7/11, he advocates “[getting] a Big Gulp cup and filling that sucker to the brim with coffee, maybe cutting it with a bit of ice to prevent the straw from melting, and passing that off as a soda, because a 42 oz. soda is way cheaper than a 20 oz. coffee.” But his advice isn’t limited to gas stations and caffeinated beverages: “If you’re really trying to stay on top of things, I’d advocate keeping an eye on your dog’s rear end at all times. When you see that pup’s pinkeye starting to pulsate like a quasar, you’ll know it’s time to get Fido outside. Take my word for it: this is a fast, easy method that ensures you won’t waste countless hours walking your canine in a circle.”

Alas, most of the book drags on, much like Bateman’s own inexplicable existence, and Just Life seems unlikely to find a place among such canonical works of personal remembrance as The Education of Henry Adams and Juiced: Wild Times, Rampant ‘Roids, Smash Hits, & How Baseball Got Big. At best, Just Life is just okay: over-long and meandering, lacking any kind of deeper purpose, but not really hurting anybody, either. At worst, it confirms the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt. All too often, I paused in the story to ask myself, “Who the hell does this guy think he is?”

–Oscar Berkman