She gives us a timestamped run-down of a typical day before a night out, emphasizing the amount of planning, preparation, and consideration of cancelling that goes into each social outing. I particularly enjoyed “Girls Gone Mild,” the second essay in the book, where Irby laments the ease of partying when she was younger. She’s deeply funny, and her various takes throughout the book are honest and relatable. Irby’s writing touches on the influences of social media, ubiquity of technology, nuances of sexuality, perils of aging, and pressures of adult responsibility. If that’s not your thing and you’re looking to escape into the words of someone who’s embraced themself fully as they are, but not in an off-putting self-centered way, look no further than “wow, no thank you.” In this collection of essays, Samantha Irby injects a dry (and occasionally crude) sense of humor into her reflections on life. (Apr.The new year is relentlessly pushed as a time for goals, self-improvement, and new ventures.
Readers will be disappointed by this strained attempt at comedic memoir. Irby can be remarkably candid, as when she admits to having a “running inner monologue recounting every horrible thing I’ve said or done since I can remember first publicly humiliating myself,” one that “never shuts the fuck up or goes away even for a minute.” This emotional honesty is the book’s best feature, but is less appealing than it might have been, due to the hectic tone.
She also overemphasizes showbiz references-at one point, she imagines her life as a wacky Hollywood comedy, and at another point, as several seasons of a TV show. In recounting a period in her life that saw her attain success as an author, endure a frustrating flirtation with Hollywood, and move from Chicago to Kalamazoo, Mich., “where the most popular bar has a mechanical bull,” Irby primarily aims to amuse, but the humor is one-note, leaning too much on double exclamation points, triple question marks, and caps lock, and too little on original observations. This overly manic collection from blogger Irby ( We Are Never Meeting in Real Life) hints at the author’s talent, but ultimately disappoints.
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