I have something to admit: before lockdown, I had never read any David Sedaris. Of course, I had heard of him. I even knew that not to have read anything by him was something I should feel vaguely ashamed of. But never was any of this enough to motivate me to actually pick up one of his books – never, that is, until I ended up confined without access to my library and therefore picked up Calpyso.
I’m no stranger to thoughts about fate and destiny, but never has a book found me at exactly the time it was meant to until this one.
Calypso – like, I’m led to understand, most of Sedaris’ work – is the prime example of dark humor. In it, he manages to address such deep-seated issues as suicide and alcoholism with the wry, tongue-in-cheek humor better suited to those of his adopted England. In Calypso specifically, he navigates the world of large families – of the things we say and do not say, of the alliances that form and break and reform with ease.
In a time of such uncertainty and chaos, to read such a finely executed approach to the darker things in life that is both humorous and phenomenally self-aware was just the thing I needed.