Customer Reviews

Devil in the Details: Scenes from an Obsessive Girlhood

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Ms. Traig has a real talent for taking events that are quite tragic, and must have been agonizing to experience, and making them hilarious. You feel almost guilty laughing, as a young Jenny washes her hands dozens of times while wondering if water is really clean.

While her memoir is primarily one of a "closet OCD sufferer," her scrupulosity and other concerns give an interesting insight into Judaism, for those of us who had no idea which holidays were fasts and that Jewish-ness is passed down through the mother. Her light, witty handling of serious matters--Judaism, OCD, family relationships--is truly spectacular.

This book was of special interest to me because it made me aware of several symptoms of OCD that I had as a child. Discussing it with another, similarly surprised friend, we decided that no, rearranging objects in perfect right angles for fear of the Apocalypse wasn't exactly normal behavior. So this book is especially enjoyable if you see a bit of yourself in Jenny.

I almost never post reviews but when I read the comment below ("horrifyingly funny") I agreed so strongly it made me want to write. Having just finished the book, I thought the suggestion that future books might benefit from more emotion is right on the money, and nicely (i.e. both articulately and gently) put. Though I really appreciate that Traig was never self-pitying here - she steered well clear of the "pain club" memoir stigma - I was really wishing and hoping to see more chinks in her humor armor. I found her an intelligent narrator but never felt I really got to know her as more than a collection of behaviors--and I wanted to! (Maybe it would have helped to hear her speak more from the present, to complement the past.) After a while, I found the book exhausting--not the repetition of behaviors, which would be relevant and necessary to a portrait of OCD, but the lack of variance in tone. It basically maintained one emotional pitch throughout - sarcastic, witty, sometimes sitcomish - and (in my opinion anyway) it just felt too thin to sustain a book of this length on this topic. PW used the word "cursory"--I second that too. The one-liners are clever, articulate, punny, funny, but after a while I was craving more emotional range, some glints of acknowledgment of the seriousness and realness of what she was going through. I think it can be done subtly and without the self-pity she is trying (admirably) to avoid. Sedaris does this; his essays are laugh out loud funny but can be poignant too, without being cheesy. The scene toward the end of the book in the bathroom with her mother had a hint - just a HINT - of that quality, and I too would hope for more of it in future books, so I'm not just snickering here and there but laughing in the most satisfying way - when the humor is not just funny/clever but funny/nuanced/moving/real.

From age seven to 17, Jennifer Traig suffered from scrupulosity. What is scrupulosity? Mix a borderline autistic with a religious zealot, and you'll end up with an obsessive-compulsive teenager who literally looks for the devil in every painstaking detail. Did her Trapper Keeper rest for a nanosecond on the desk of the biggest slut in eighth grade? Better take it home and scrub it over and over with bleach. Was that butter contaminated with non-kosher toast crumbs? Better stick to a breakfast of Diet Coke Popsicles, again. When she starts driving it gets even worse: did she or didn't she hit someone on the last block? Better drive back three times to make sure. It's not surprising that driving was one of her least favorite activities.

This resulting black comedy was Jennifer Traig's life for ten years. The variety of obsessive-compulsive disorder she dealt with, scrupulosity, was first recognized in the 12th century in the form of super pious monks who were compelled to pray for seven hours a day. As she points out, scruple in Latin means small, sharp stone; for her life, scrupulosity meant constant self-questioning and ever nagging doubts. Raised by a Catholic mother and Jewish father, neither of whom was overly observant, Traig finds herself more drawn to the synagogue than St. Peters and this is where her life becomes riddled with the small, sharp stones of scrupulosity. She self-teaches herself Judaism, focusing in, with her OCD ways, on the church laws regarding cleanliness. She is fixated with hand washing, and conveys the depth of the disorder by dropping into the book periodic 'interstitials,' which include guidelines for hand washing as well as recipes for all the scrupulous anorexics out there (anorexia being a more common form of OCD).

At age thirteen, in order to fully convert to Judaism (which is necessary since she is a half-breed, "like Cher") she begins bi-weekly Torah lessons, and with the introduction of Kosher laws, life gets really interesting. When her teacher explains that milk and meat require separate dishes, she instantly decides that this must also apply to toilets. If her sister cooks bacon, then doesn't this render all her worldly belongings unclean and thus subject to immediate purification in the washing machine? Isn't the very floor of the home in which the bacon was cooked impure, and therefore shouldn't you put paper towels underneath your feet for protection? But wait, the glue that holds a new roll of paper towels together might not be kosher so be sure to discard the first several sheets and then, just in case, wash hands.

Tragic, yes, but luckily Traig's treatment of this period in her life comes off more tragically funny. Her ability to look back without victimizing herself is remarkable, and since she does it with a huge helping of humor, she manages to keep her memoir apart from a genre filled with "pity poor me!" tomes. It is obvious that she gets her sense of humor from her parents, two people whose remarks and antics kept me laughing throughout the book. Her mother's favorite method of distracting Jennifer during summer vacation was to involve her in a variety of arts and crafts, including cross-stitching such wisdoms as "If Jackasses could fly, this place would be an airport." It isn't any wonder that today Jennifer Traig is responsible for a long line of "Crafty Girl" books aimed at artsy adolescents.

Interestingly enough, Traig's memoir leaves off just as she enters college, where miraculously her OCD tendencies begin to wane. A heavy year of therapy preceded the big leap to Berkeley and a family vacation to France, assisted by sedatives, helped get her "out of her grooves." I wonder if it doesn't naturally coincide with that time when most teenagers begin feeling more in control of their own lives and less under the control of parents, friends and the church. Ironically, the person she wrests control of her life back from is...herself.

DEVIL IN THE DETAILS gives a rare inside look at obsessive-compulsive disorder. It is a funny, touching tale of a not-so-normal girl and her brave battle with a not-so-normal disease.

--- Reviewed by Jamie Layton

I happened to see Jenny Traig read in San Francisco, and picked up her book on a whim. What a treat! I can see why another reviewer found the book too harsh, but it happened to hit my funny bone just right, over and over and over again (and over. Wash your hands!). The details of her life are so sad and so terrible that all you can do is laugh hysterically at her misfortune.

One of the book jacket reviews said that the author does not lapse "even for a moment into self-pity." This is true. However, I would recommend that Ms. Traig try more for moments of genuine and sadness and joy in her next work. This book definitely stands on its own. But there are hints of real pain there - she writes that she never felt like she belonged to her family, compares her relationship with her sister to the Bible's Esau and Jacob, admits she was anorexic. While it's great to be able to squeeze humor from stuff like this, it's even greater to be able to acknowledge the real sorrow behind it too. I think the author is up to the task. I look forward to her next book.

Like the author, I have OCD, and I actually have a pretty good sense of humor, too, I think. Nevertheless, I'm far more bitter about my past than Ms. Traig seems. I'm sure she's had her fair share of anger, fighting, pain and suffering, to which she does sometimes allude in the book, but she's retained a wicked sense of humor and written an entertaining book.

Ms. Traig has suffered from several forms of OCD, some worse than others, including scrupulosity, washing, counting, checking and anorexia nervosa (the eating disorder is considered related to OCD). Her family has lived with her and her OCD, and most of us sufferers would agree, that isn't easy. She shares funny and interesting parts of her life, and I learned quite a bit about Jews and Judaism that I didn't know (I'm not Jewish). She explains how her OCD and religion intertwined and affected each other. I loved reading about her family, as well.

I found myself often bursting out laughing, sometimes garnering odd looks from my boyfriend. She conveyed the thought processes of OCD quite well, showing how frustrating it can be for the sufferer. We can see the humor in how we think, but when we're in the moment, it's not funny at all. OCD can be severely emotionally painful, and it really can ruin lives when sufferers can't get it under control. Reading about OCD's humorous side can ease some of the pain.

This is a great book for OCD sufferers and their families, as well as anyone who enjoys memoirs. It's not boring at all, and might help others understand what goes on in our minds.

As a teenager, memoirist Jennifer Traig was one screwed-up girl. At various times, she suffered from anorexia and an acute form of obsessive compulsive disorder, scrupulosity. The product of a religiously blended family, she had to discover her own identity as a Jew, often with bizarre definitions of prayer and practice. Deeply introspective and yearning for intellectual stimulation, she grew up in a conservative, stultifying rural Northern California community. Nothing worked for her. Yet, her observations are side-splittingly funny and she wastes not one drop of energy on self-pity. "Devil in the Details" will probably obtain a cult following and should be required reading for any female teenager given to dramatizing every crisis in her life.

There is little actually humorous about Traig as an adolescent. She drives her parents to distraction with her constant regimen of hand-washing, a quasi-kosher diet that reduces her to stick-figure proportions and a series of arcane, tragic-comic religious observances. Her sarcastic and edgy sister, Vicki, provides a welcome contrast to the withdrawn and weird Jennifer. However, Traig turns dust into diamonds; her quirky, disoriented life has a ruthless order to it. What appears out-of-control to a dispassionate observer makes sense to the ritual-bound author.

Traig reminds us that the early 1970s provided no psychological answer to OCD, a syndrome that didn't even have a name at the time. There were no meds to mellow out those with the disorder, and Traig humbly and simply determines to cure herself. She is at her best when she describes herself in a self-deprecatory manner, and since wit exists in practically every paragraph, the memoir glistens with understated insight and induces real laughter. When the author finally comprehends that others have had enough of her antics, she resolves to stop the behaviors. For the better part of her high school career, she careens between self-induced sickness and health.

Traig's postulated need for self-help may not sit well with a current generation increasingly dependent on chemical solutions to emotional problems. The author wisely notes that her parents' endless patience and acceptance enabled Traig to find her own path to health. The entire family seems to understand that life is an erratic roller coaster ride and having perfect children is far too overrated a goal in the first place. Consequently, Traig only indirectly chooses her own path to recovery; her parents' unwavering (if unspoken) belief in their daughters exists as a crucial positive variable.

"Devil in the Details" exudes a joy in living. Whether it be the author's descriptions of learning to drive, her dissection of the mixed-blessings of a Jewish/Christian household at holiday time, or the universal discontent felt by the alienated during high school, the memoir has both grit and grace. Jennifer Traig clearly loves language, and her writing is rich in memorable metaphors and captivating alliteration. As unique a teenager as she was, Traig's story resonates with universal appeal.

Ms. Traig's writing is a delight. I raced through all 247 pages - even the Acknowledgements were interesting. She has an eye for the hilarious and the skill to convey that hilarity to the reader through wonderful swings in cadance, vocabulary, and metaphor.

With her talent thus applauded, I only wish that she had been more ambitious in her attempt to reveal part of the human condition. Sure, her stories of herself had some fodder from which I could glean morsels of enlightenment. (I just mixed, what, three metaphors?) But she neglects to tackle something truly scary: a topic outside of her own family.

I am only so belligerent on this point because my heart tells me that Ms. Traig is capable of much more. As long as this book is pre-amble - a warm-up exercise - I recommend it without reservation as a way to truefully say "I remember when" as Ms. Traig collects awards galore.

I hope the success of this book brings her the confidence to delve more deeply - with equal parts epiphany and comedy - into the human spirit.

Not one page I didn't think was hysterical. Jennifer didn't inherit her Judaism from her mother, but she sure did inherit mother's sense of humor. Mom sounds like she could write her own book too! I related to the era...loved the honesty. Reminds me a lot of David Sedaris...if David had been a Jewish teen with OCD. Without the OCD connection...the humor of her Jewish conversion is some of the best comedy I've read. Jennifer, embrace this genre and write more! I'll be watching for more...girl, I think you could make pumping gas funny.

I laughed until I cried while reading Jennifer Traig's harrowing memoir. It is easily one of the best books to come out in 2004. Under the humor -- and there's a lot of it -- is an important story about a little-known mental disorder, scrupulosity. As a family member of a scrupulosity sufferer, I can say that Ms Traig's story rings true. What's great about her account, though, is that she manages to find humor in her story and unlike many other adolescent memoirs, does not try to over-analyze, simplify, explain or place blame.

Traig writes well and had only one literary tendency that annoyed me (her overuse of "Oh, sure ..."). She kept me laughing, but towards the end of the book I became restless, wanting more:

-Some of the themes become repetitive towards the end; her writing could have been "tighter" in the closing essays
- She treats her adolescent self as a carnival freak, something to be laughed at, and invites her readers to do the same. But she is not a freak; she is a person. As a reader, I wanted to love her and care about her. But she doesn't really let us feel her pain -- surely there was real hurt in those moments, yes? She doesn't dig deep enough; she is content to let those scabs merely become fodder for jokes. And in the end, because she seems to be dismissive and distant towards her former self, the reader has no choice but to do the same.

If I were her editor, I'd push her for a rewrite and ask for more of the raw feelings. Yes, her skin was chapped -- but what about her heart? Bring us your pain, Traig, and let us cry with you as you are trapped in your disability. Show us that you love yourself, so that we can love you too. Because we want to!