Customer Reviews

I Was Told There'd Be Cake: Essays

5 star:		(51)
4 star:		(32)
3 star:		(27)
2 star:		(27)
1 star:		(35)

 

 

I was drawn to this book because the pull quote on the cover said it was in the tradition of Sederis and Vowell. While I am glad I read it, it is not a must read. Crosley is talented but can be predictable and cliché. She lacks self-awareness. At the same time, she's terribly funny (she even pulls off mean funny), gutsy and admirably self-confident. She's best when she is honest and generous. I look forward to reading more of her work and watching her grow as a writer. As for this book, it would have benefitted from a tougher editor.

While the writing is pretty good, and this collection of essays has its moments of cleverness, overall it's not as funny (by no means would I call it "hilarious") or interesting as hyped. The essays suffer somewhat from a steeping in twentysomething self-absorption/middle-class angst, and don't qualify for inclusion in the same league as David Sedaris and Dorothy Parker, because they lack a certain edginess. The stardard white-girl fare (first job, mean boss; being in a wedding), is, at times, mildly entertaining, but not particularly memorable. Bottom line: it's okay.

I feel mean sayin' it, but it's true. I was all excited about curling up with this read after reading great reviews. I jumped ship after about 30 pages. It's not David Sedaris. It's not anything remotely as funny or interesting or insightful. It reminds me of a girl who goes out with you and your work friends and tells embarrassing stories about herself, and you laugh/wince, cause you're a bit drunk, and then, the next day, you feel kinda bad for her, like she exposed too much, and that she kinda needed the attention, and you're kinda embarrassed for her, even though she isn't. I lived in NY for a long time and these people are all over the place. This is her book.

If you have American kids -- or may have them someday -- did you ever think of raising them in an interesting foreign country so they could come back as teens with a high coolness quotient? No? Would you send a Jewish ten-year-old to a Christian summer camp? and if you did, would you be surprised to hear that she played Mary in the "Christmas in July" pageant after the blond Girl from Darien was hobbled by a broken toe? Is there a collection of anything in your kitchen drawers, let's say toy ponies for example, that you worry about your mother finding if you die unexpectedly? and if so, would you dispose of them on a Brooklyn-bound subway train? Have you ever locked yourself out on moving day, from both old AND new apartments, requiring two expensive calls to the same sarcastic locksmith?

No? Then you're not like Sloane Crosley, the twenty-something author of I Was Told There'd Be Cake. This little book of wildly assorted essays is a kind of cubist blueprint for the young, well-off, well-educated New York woman. Crosley's writing is irreverent about her family ("I have never met two people more afraid of their house burning down than my parents") and particularly about her (we hope) well-disguised friends. She says of a pair of dinner guests: "Because there are no more hippies, you don't call them hippies. (But if you ever saw two people on a beach, gorging themselves on whole-wheat burritos and pot, picking sand out of each other's toes, and diving into the water naked, that would be them.)"

You may wonder whether you care about Sloane Crosley's observations on her short life to date. That's one question I can't answer for you. I will tell you that while her experiences may be alien to anything you have ever done, thought or felt, the girl can write intelligently and with great humor; there are unifying principles in the human existence and she catalogs a subset of them very well . We're bound to hear more from this young writer, and if she brings her sardonic wit to deeper subjects it will be very well worth reading. This book was an entertaining look at her world. One star off for the essay format, as I believe her book would have been better served by a more linear memoir format.

Linda Bulger, 2008

I'm only giving this three stars because it really is a three star book. That said-- I expect that eventually she'll have quite a few five star books, as she has the talent-- it just isn't fully developed as of yet.

I was quite disappointed with the first few essays, and thought that maybe she was trying too hard. The essays are somewhat enjoyable, but she mixes a few too many clichés in with too few of her very original sentences.

But-- it was good enough to keep me reading, and I absolutely loved the "You On a Stick" essay about her being asked to be a bridesmaid in an old friend's wedding. Thoroughly enjoyable, and something many of us can relate to.

She's young and still finding her voice. My guess is that her next work will be an improvement and that we'll be hearing more from her.

She definitely is cool-- in that she is honest, and that she writes from her own perspective, not caring what might "sell."

This book to me, while disappointing overall, does show that she has the observational voice that we all love in the Sedarises and Burroughs of the world. Plus she has the ability to create unusual and entertaining phrases which you have to admire.

I'll definitely be watching her rise.

I was just browsing in one of the airport book shops with no plans to purchase a book. I am in recovery from an eating disorder and when I saw this title it immediately drew me to the book. I started reading it and from the very first paragraph I could relate, not in a recovered eating disorder way but in a life way. I remembered when I myself lived in New York, it brought back so many of those teenaged memories. I had to buy it. I read the book by the time my trip was over. I loved it and would reccomend it to any female who is looking for those fun reminders of growing up and becomming a young adult.

While I felt that Crosley's quirky topics were mildly entertaining, I have to say I disagree with other reviewers that she has promise and talent. In my opinion, she is quite simply not a very good writer. I didn't even finish the book. She certainly doesn't belong among the ranks of great humorists like David Sedaris (the comparison being the reason I bought this book in the first place).

Quite frankly I don't want to read about how someone was abused by their father, or feels there mother doesn't love them, or who got thirty thousand Ph.D's and spent the better years of their life somewhere in the Amazon getting malaria. Really, I don't. Mostly because I love my daddy, my mom might just be the coolest lady ever, and the fact is I'm still trying to figure out how to work my toaster, much less get a Ph.D. It's nice to read things you can relate to, and I can certainly relate to Sloane Crosley.

I bought this book in an effort not to read my Geography textbook, and immediately fell in love with Crosley's quirky sense of humor, self-deprecating remarks, and all around human approach to essay writing. I worry about some of the same things she does, because after all if I die tomorrow I do not want people finding those awful peasant skirts in my closet.

Lately it seems the personal essay has become something depressing. Who wants to read something depressing? This collection of essays is exactly the kind of essay I would want to write, so it's certainly one I loved to read.

I will admit that this book is, quite frankly, not for the male, over forty, humorless, or uptight. Still, for a college girl who still wishes she could be Wonder Woman, this book tells me I'm not alone, and I'm not nearly as weird as I thought I was.

I kind of love this book. Crosley is not quite funny enough, and not quite neurotic enough, but there's a happy balance in there somewhere and this was a comfortable, entertaining, quick read. The first few stories almost put me off, the first one being particularly ridiculous and a serious stretch of patience, but halfway into the book and I couldn't put it down. She has a long way to go if she's aspiring to be David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs, because her book is definitely mapped out in an identical way - it's a collection of short, humorous 'autobiographical' stories, but there wasn't anything that absolutely made me laugh out loud, even though I know the attempt was plainly there. Regardless, Crosley definitely has a handle on the clever metaphor, and there are a lot of quotable lines in this book, and in the end I think she and I are a lot alike. Maybe that's why I kind of love it.

It is hard to pinpoint what the writer does wrong - she follows all the standard ways of creating funny prose: unusual situations or embarrassing hobbies or behaviours (the first chapter is about collecting toy ponies), using unexpected adjectives (it is not just a pony, it is a chronically dehydrated pony) and everyday situations described in a hilarious way. Except that the result is not funny and the descriptions are not hilarious- they are boring. It is sad - you can feel that she so much wanted to be the new David Sedaris, but alas, this book is a waste of time.