Title: Lacks Self Control: True Stories I Waited Until My Parents Died to Tell by Roy Sekoff
Details: Copyright 2018, Big a Books
Synopsis (By Way of Front Flap):
""Although he's generally agreeable, Roy Sekoff lacks self-control."
Or so proclaimed his kindergarten teacher.
Thus pigeonholed, Sekoff spent the next several decades proving her right, gathering many outrageous, sometimes raunchy, occasionally moving, always hilarious stories along the way. From a teenage pilgrimage to a Times Square porn superstore to life-changing experiences with high colonics and psychic readings to his tenure as founding editor of the Huffington Post, Lacks Self Control is an uproarious testament to his unwavering commitment to overshare.
Told with zinging wit and zero propriety, Sekoff's collection of true tales showcases his caustic yet surprisingly sweet sense of humor. Whether he's describing a youthful encounter with a killer crocodile, an ill-fated attempt to make off with a tissue containing Oprah's tears, or that time Chevy Chase grabbed his balls at a funeral, Sekoff is a lively, irreverent raconteur whose sharp observations wring laughs out of a ludicrous yet relatable life."
Why I Wanted to Read It: This was recommended to me between some heavier reads. I'm vocal about my love of David Sedaris, so I'm always in the mood for an amusing memoir.
How I Liked It: The back cover promises that the author is like "if David Sedaris, Chelsea Handler, Larry David, and Caitlin Moran had the unlikeliest orgy in history" and that's two names here that are particularly relevant. Sedaris and Handler are both bestselling memoirists and people generally know what they're getting.
I haven't read Handler's work, but I've read all of Sedaris's books. He understands, as his contemporaries (and fellow bestselling memoirists) like Jenny Lawson and Samantha Irby also understand, that in order to sell a book of stories about yourself? You more or less have to create a character. Sedaris the character is a somewhat shy, slightly neurotic sort of everyman to whom ridiculous things happen and/or to whom everyday things happen ridiculously. Jenny Lawson is a quirky, damaged-but-still-marching-to-the-beat-of-her-own-drummer weirdo-but-it-makes-sense-to-ME survivor, straight from a quirky rural childhood she contends would make anyone weird. Samantha Irby is an uber-relatable (but more so) everywoman facing extraordinary challenges and situations, including the at-times almost cartoonish hell of her own upbringing, all while wandering in and out of pop culture.
The three authors I named are different, but each has honed their voice into a character that is both relatable but unique. You see things through their eyes, but you also see them.
So where does that leave the author of this book? Well, as far as establishing character, I was starting to get exhausted from the front flap alone. There's a line where it crosses from "building a character" to "sweatily desperate to sell you a character" and it's not a character you particularly want. The author is so keen on convincing you that he's an out-there, wildchild, can't-be-contained, revolutionary tell-it-like-it-is funnyman that he, well, convinces you successfully otherwise.
The chapters jump around in chronology, but never quite lose the trying-to-impress-you shtick. Seems like EVERYONE was impressed by the author, from Oprah, to the teenage sex worker he totally charmed in Times Square, to the staff and later the mourners of legendary comic Michael O'Donoghue (at whose memorial service, Chevy Chase grabbed the author's testicles). Many of these stories in tone are only slightly more polished than the Internet chestnuts that end with "...And then the whole bus clapped!"
The chapters which aren't going overboard to name drop and convince you of what a remarkable man the author is sadly don't read much better. If you've ever wondered what Dave Barry might write like if he was about 70% less funny and tried to account for that with more swears and gross out attempts at humor (and a knee-slapper of a rape joke or two, because that's what people wanted in 2018; seriously, how out of it would you have to be to still think a joke about someone being "too ugly to rape" is anything but godawful? Is it "subversive" because he was talking about himself and as a man, it's then okay?), you've got the general idea.
I tried to parse whether I found this so tedious because I've seen it done so much better, or whether I genuinely disliked the character of himself the author created, and I think it's truly both. If you're going to have us spend time with you, make sure it's the best you. A conversation with someone constantly bragging quickly gets old. And there's a way to tell what happened to you in a memoir without bragging.
I'm reminded of the discrepancy in two memoirs I read that are of a very different stripe, but relevant here. Legendary FBI profiler John E Douglas's 1995 memoir Mindhunter (on which the Netflix series is based) and fellow legendary FBI profiler Robert Ressler's 1992 memoir Whoever Fights Monsters. Maybe it's their co-writers, but Douglas's memoir is an engaging story wherein he is a struggling, sometimes fumbling, very dedicated (often at the expense of his personal life) man who's humble about his legend and quick to tell you about, say, his FBI-issued gun being stolen out of his unlocked VW Bug in his twenties and the warm and joking rapport he has with his other devoted agents.
Ressler, on the other hand, is a bragging, know-better-than-you genius from childhood who always gets it right, did you know? Anyone who challenges him is wrong, oh, and maybe some of his colleagues were okay, if a bit flashy. This isn't helped by the fact there's at least two cases mentioned in Ressler's book where he was proven to be infamously absolutely, completely wrong, including the Central Park Five case. I don't know if there was ever a revised forward (talking about updated cases and what he got wrong) like Douglas did in later editions, either.
So a case of two memoirs, but only one is one that you want to spend time with the person who (co)wrote it. Creating a likeable character matters in a memoir whether you're talking about your time revolutionizing the FBI, or telling funny stories from your childhood.
The author of this book is a first time author (but, as the press and author inform you over and over, the founding editor of the Huffington Post) and there's a chance if he writes a follow up, it could be better. But you can't help but feel if this was an introduction to this character, you'd rather not know him, thanks.
Final Grade: D-
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