Gege Cruz Sugue

If I were to write a novel or an autobiography, I would want to write like Eggers does. 98% sap free. With both his parents dying of cancer weeks apart and having to give up the freedom of youth to take care of his younger brother Toph, it would have been easy and justified to write a sentimental piece filled with maudlin musings. Instead, Eggers writes with such profound and honest humor.

Maybe the title puts you off. It is audacious. It is cocky. But know that it is said with tongue in cheek. At some point, in fact, Eggers even calls the book stupid.

Is it sollipsistic? Hell, yeah. How can it not be? It is an autobiography after all. With the tragic events of his life, a healthy amount of self absorption is necessary to excavate suppressed feelings and purge himself of his demons. This book is Eggers’ cathartic way of sorting through the dirty, rotten emotions of grieving so he can move on and get on with the dirty but fulfilling tasks of taking care of his brother, a responsibility so prematurely and suddenly thrust upon him.

Is it sad? Yes. Poignant. Heartbreaking. But Eggers does not have time to mope. He deals with his losses with braggadocio, hilarity, and sometimes the most absurd form of pain-denial. His love for Toph manifests through his unspoken fears of how he might turn out to be because his dysfunctional upbringing “…would cause him to feel unwanted and alone, leading to the warping of his fragile psyche, then to experimentation with inhalants, to the joining of some River’s Edge gang, too much flannel and too little remorse, the cutting of his own tats, the drinking of lamb’s blood, the inevitable initiation-fulfilling murder of me and Beth in our sleep” or he might “grow up to sell crack or sing in a harmonizing pop group from Florida.”

Is it funny? Very. And intelligent. And moving. And sardonic. Angry. Too many cuss words to be for general patronage. Sometimes silly. Sometimes inspiring. Sincere. Powerful. Staggering. Genius.

Okay, so I’m a nerd for reading a grammar book from cover to cover. But this is not your usual grammar book. It’s not organized in an indexable [not an acceptable word] order which starts with the parts of speech, proceeds with tenses and by the time you get to idiomatic phrases, you’re bored to a deep comma, oops, coma.

This book is a collection of articles on various grammar topics. June Casagrande, who writes for the Los Angeles Times, treats grammar with irreverence. She pokes fun at grammar demigods William Strunk, EB White, and punctuation pundit Lynne Truss and other so-called grammar experts, whom she calls grammar snobs and accuses of bluffing with rules that none of them are 100% sure about anyway. She exposes the inconsistencies within and among grammar bibles like the Chicago Manual of Style and the Associated Press Stylebook.

Casagrande sometimes sounds like one of the grammar snobs she vilifies, but her ire is mostly targeted towards those who get off feeling superior by making regular English speakers feel stupid, keeping them ignorant by confusing them with the pedantic, though sometime seemingly random, rules.

The 42 articles, written with a healthy dose of humor, are informative. They present not just one unbendable rule per situation, like most style books do, but they share alternative rules. This means that sometimes we just really have to use our judgment and rely on our ears, because there are different ways to attack a grammar issue.

I devoured the book. I learned quite a bit that I can use in practical situations. And I promise (to try) not to be a grammar snob.

1964. A blizzard forces Dr. David Henry to minister to his own wife, Norah, in childbirth. This was a time when technology allowed for surprises. Soon after delivering his son David, Dr. Henry discovered that there was a second baby. A girl who had Down syndrome. Remembering the pain of losing a sister to a lingering disease and wanting to spare his wife the pain his family endured, he hastily decided to get rid of the baby. He instructed his nurse, Caroline, to send the child to an institution. Caroline, compelled by circumstances and driven by the desire to be significant, ran away with baby Phoebe instead.

Interesting premise. Until you realize that every other Filipino soap opera begins with this — the spiriting away of an infant. And then, the rest of the story revolves around the dark consequences of such an act.

Like many soap operas, this story is long-drawn-out, tedious, and melodramatic. A 25 year saga.

Like most soap opera viewers, I couldn’t help but be emotionally involved in the story, wanting to know what happens next, suspending reality. No, more like confusing reality with fiction by actually feeling for the characters, feeling real emotions – hating the doctor for the lies he wove, suffering Norah’s pain, relating to Caroline’s confusion, wanting to have the power to speak to the characters to tell them what to do. In fact, I found myself screaming at times to tell the characters to do or not to do something. I was that involved in the story. Yeah, sappy sucker me.

Unlike soap operas, this one goes deeper into the characterization, explaining the layers of history and motivation beneath a character’s behavior and decisions. Showing the different dimensions of each personality. I understood where they were coming from even though I did not agree with their actions.

I didn’t hate this book too much. I didn’t like it much either. Too slow. Too long. Too sentimental. Too much drama. The author could have chopped a hundred or so pages to make it more taut. The ending was not quite what I expected, but it wasn’t that bad a way to end. I’m just glad it did end because my emotions were spent. I did not expect to have invested too much energy in it. If you don’t have the patience for melodrama, stay away from this book.