In witty slice-of-life vignettes and laugh-out-loud cultural riffs, Elizabeth Warner shares her divinely demented view of the world. Raised by a mild-mannered psychiatrist father and a slightly off-kilter mother, Warner opted out of the life that awaited the youth of WASP heaven (aka Philadelphia’s Main Line)–that is, to be “typically weaned, whelped, and privately schooled, whereupon you move on to the roost-and-spawn phase.”
Yet no matter how far afield she ventures–to New York to become a master junk-mail marketer or to L.A. to do a little acting–Warner can’t help but feel that sometimes she’s getting nowhere fast on “some kind of Protestant monorail to doom.”
Whether she’s spelling out the invisible word “help” on a guy’s shoulder blades during unfulfilling sex, getting out of jury duty by smearing herself with soy sauce, or convincing her mother that the words “career girl” are not her death knell, Warner proves that sometimes it doesn’t matter where you go in life–just as long as you’ve got a killer punch line.
To be honest, the book is worth reading for the mother, more than the author's own life. I was puzzled by her finances - she appears to be cash poor, needing relatively menial jobs for upcoming "rent", yet she also seems to have no real money worries either. She mentions the I.R.S. audited her for this presumed inconsistency; based upon the "facts" given here, I don't blame them! The book is well-written, and funny.
Elizabeth Warner is a New York City-based writer and this collection of essays tells stories of her life in New York as a copywriter and other ventures, a stint in L.A., as well as growing up in an upper middle class Philadelphian suburb.
I find it odd that Warner portrays her upbringing as something very strange and almost exotic. I suppose we all think that way though at times. As children, we typically do not think our world is weird. It is only when we grow up and move into wider circles and hear of others’ backgrounds that we begin to see our backgrounds in a new light, through others’ eyes. And then we see the weirdness.
Warner is a decent enough writer. I read aloud parts or even whole essays to my friend and we laughed out loud in moments. My favorite story was one from Warner’s childhood when she and her siblings inadvertently lead to a big police bust of some local sports players. Her essay about L.A. was also rather amusing. However, there is nothing must-read about this collection, unfortunately.
I think she fancies herself a female David Sedaris but is far from it. The "humorous" essays were far from it. I wouldn't have finished it if I hadn't been stuck on a plane with no other reading material.