review - nasty
“Nasty: My Family and Other Glamorous Varmints”
Simon Doonan
(Simon and Schuster)
Sometime in the last century, the craziness of one’s family ceased to be a swept-under-the-carpet affair and became a bragging point; as evidence, take any of David Sedaris’ wildly successful essay collections. British transplant (and Beautiful Person) Simon Doonan embarks into this familiar territory in “Nasty: My Family and Other Glamorous Varmints,” further exploring characters introduced in his previous books.
Doonan’s theme is that he doesn’t remember any of his pleasant memories; instead his memory banks are filled with “fifty years of jarring occurrences, freakish individuals, deranged obsessions, public embarrassments, kamikaze outfits, unsavory types, varmints, vermin” – in short, anything unpleasant or downright bizarre. Take Betty, his proud mother who believed her Irish blood was a fair opponent for any pain the world could offer (a trait passed on from her tough as nails father), or lobotomized schizophrenic Narg (“Gran” reversed by the enterprising six-year-old Simon), a woman apt to throw the contents of her bedroom down the stairs when confronted with an upsetting situation.
His friends fare no better in the quest for sunny recollections. A blind woman in Simon’s care is steered into a pole, cracking her skull. Homemade astringent is consumed by Doonan and a college friend in search of alcohol. “Biddie,” Doonan’s childhood friend, sometime roommate, and drag queen cabaret singer has a penchant for bringing home used pianos. Doonan himself suffers hernias, a car trunk filled with colostomy bags, and an unfortunate (and hilarious, in retrospect) incident involving a kilt-pant hybrid and a police officer, among other mishaps.
As cathartic for the reader as it (hopefully) was for the author, “Nasty” is as entertaining as it is unpleasant. Flamboyant prose and actual photographs from Doonan’s life paint a vivid picture of what it must have been like for Doonan, growing up young, gay, British, and with burgeoning fabulousness. Most of all, Doonan’s family’s dirty laundry (or floor pillows, as the case may be) helps make us all a little more grateful for the wackiness that exists in our own families, and all the wonderfully nasty memories that result.
Simon Doonan
(Simon and Schuster)
Sometime in the last century, the craziness of one’s family ceased to be a swept-under-the-carpet affair and became a bragging point; as evidence, take any of David Sedaris’ wildly successful essay collections. British transplant (and Beautiful Person) Simon Doonan embarks into this familiar territory in “Nasty: My Family and Other Glamorous Varmints,” further exploring characters introduced in his previous books.
Doonan’s theme is that he doesn’t remember any of his pleasant memories; instead his memory banks are filled with “fifty years of jarring occurrences, freakish individuals, deranged obsessions, public embarrassments, kamikaze outfits, unsavory types, varmints, vermin” – in short, anything unpleasant or downright bizarre. Take Betty, his proud mother who believed her Irish blood was a fair opponent for any pain the world could offer (a trait passed on from her tough as nails father), or lobotomized schizophrenic Narg (“Gran” reversed by the enterprising six-year-old Simon), a woman apt to throw the contents of her bedroom down the stairs when confronted with an upsetting situation.
His friends fare no better in the quest for sunny recollections. A blind woman in Simon’s care is steered into a pole, cracking her skull. Homemade astringent is consumed by Doonan and a college friend in search of alcohol. “Biddie,” Doonan’s childhood friend, sometime roommate, and drag queen cabaret singer has a penchant for bringing home used pianos. Doonan himself suffers hernias, a car trunk filled with colostomy bags, and an unfortunate (and hilarious, in retrospect) incident involving a kilt-pant hybrid and a police officer, among other mishaps.
As cathartic for the reader as it (hopefully) was for the author, “Nasty” is as entertaining as it is unpleasant. Flamboyant prose and actual photographs from Doonan’s life paint a vivid picture of what it must have been like for Doonan, growing up young, gay, British, and with burgeoning fabulousness. Most of all, Doonan’s family’s dirty laundry (or floor pillows, as the case may be) helps make us all a little more grateful for the wackiness that exists in our own families, and all the wonderfully nasty memories that result.
posted by Ann at 10:19 PM
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