David Sedaris Talks Pretty

Author: Claire Bourne

I expect David Sedaris to be a tall, dark-haired, flamboyant New Yorker with an imposing accent and a tendency to over-dramatize the minutest of life's details. Instead, from my back-row-center seat at the Flynn Theatre, I watch a diminutive, pink-shirt-clad man shuffle onto the stage and install himself at a meager wooden lectern.
Suddenly, the "SantaLand Diaries," Sedaris' rip-roarious account of his brief stint as a Christmas elf at Macy's flagship store in the Big Apple, comes into focus for me. I picture the costume - the green tights, in particular - on his slight frame and cannot not help but giggle to myself. The "Diaries," considered by many to be an anti-holiday masterpiece, launched Sedaris' career in the early 1990s. Not only did its broadcast on National Public Radio (NPR) give Sedaris the break he had been looking for, but it also generated more calls and requests than any other show in the station's history.
Since that career-defining moment, Sedaris' popularity has exploded. With four books of short stories and essays to his credit, the comedian and social-commentator, also a regular contributor to the New Yorker and Esquire, pushes the limits, autographing his work with darkly playful humor and dotting the i's with chatty, casual syntax.
"I'm going to try something," he announced to a full house at the Flynn before easing into his first piece, an unpublished narrative about his youth in North Carolina. Sedaris blended the story's droll content - snapshots of his strange, voyeuristic relationship with his childhood neighbors who "did not believe in television" - with his own brand of understatement. A cackler sitting a few seats away made me feel less embarrassed about my from-the-belly laughter.
Sedaris' next full-length story, "The Ship Shape" to be published in an August edition of the New Yorker, recounted his family's quest to purchase a beach house. "A second home is much more prestigious than a second daughter," he quipped. His always-vivid descriptions were sometimes a bit too graphic: "We drove past the Tastee Freeze to the supermarket for puss-colored ice cream reduced in price for quick sale." The story illustrated Sedaris' talent for meshing a humorous storyline with a deeper, darker subtext - alcoholism and hard economic times, to name a couple.
Next, he cited NPR, calling it a "conspiracy of Jews." Sedaris, who regularly appears on NPR's "This American Life," joked, "Try calling on Yom Kippur, and the only one there is Bob Edwards."
He concluded by reading essays about shopping for women's clothing with his sister and "accessorizing" with the "Stadium Pal," a handy device that allows its male owners to relieve themselves without leaving the comfort of their Laz-E-Boys. He then asked for the house lights to be turned up "half more than half" in order to field questions from the audience. He answered a handful of queries about his current residency in Paris. "If you're a heavy smoker and want to live in dignity, Paris is the only option," he explained when asked why he chose the French capital.
Current affairs did not go untouched, either. Despite the current tension between the French and American governments, Sedaris said he had not experienced any problems as a U.S. citizen in Paris. "Everyone has been so nice," he explained. "It's like the whole nation went to charm school."
While the evening's program was brief, Sedaris managed to flaunt a little bit of everything. He made it look easy.
Although he did not possess the explosive presence I had imagined, his controlled delivery and the subtle characterization he achieved with simple voice inflections confirmed his staying power as an author, a performer and a radio personality. In addition, the yet-to-be-published work he shared with us - the stories that left my abs with the best workout they have had in a long time - confirmed that he still has a lot up his sleeve.