Also this issue: Spontaneous Combustion Dance, drums and tabla combine to light up the Painted Bride. -Deni Kasrel Out of this World -Susan Hagen Lee Blessing -Interview by David Anthony Fox Family Affair -Debra Auspitz Quilting Bucks -Helen i-lin Hwang From Chippendale to Talavera -Lori Hill Moving to the Desert -Deni Kasrel Stage Flight -Debra Auspitz

October 17-23, 2002

theater

He Talks Pretty

by David Anthony Fox

A diminutive figure enters, wearing a striped shirt, blue tie, dark pants and lace-up shoes. Clutching at a sheaf of notebooks, he resembles a beleaguered office boy. Only an elfin twinkle hints at what’s to come. David Sedaris heads for the lectern.

Author and reader, Sedaris is an icon for the smart set. He's heard on NPR nearly as often as pleas for funds. He appears on Letterman, which for an ironist is like winning the Nobel Prize. Penn Presents booked him for the University's Irvine Auditorium -- it was good entrepreneurship: Sedaris sold out the 1,200 seats in record time.

Still, I'm leery. Yes, Sedaris' quirky pieces and droll, nasal delivery are amusing, but how much is really there? In particular, I'm tired of the clever-but-overexposed Santaland Diaries, which first brought Sedaris national attention. What's he done lately?

That question is answered, happily and decisively, at the start. Sedaris begins with a new, unpublished story called The Ship Shape. Like much of his work, it's a narrative of childhood, in particular, the tale of a family vacation taken in a North Carolina seacoast town. It's familiar terrain in American short stories -- you can sense the treacly, "life-altering" turn it would take in the hands of Ann Beattie.

But Sedaris is a master at treading the fine line between elegy and satire. The narrative moves effortlessly to places expected (the kids' rooms, the shore) and surprising (in line at the dry cleaner's). A lovely image will be set up and simultaneously punctured (a storm leaves the sky "the same mottled pewter as Gretchen's bruises"). Sedaris' signature one-liners fly like sparks ("cartoon napkins, illustrating the lighter side of alcoholism") but each is anchored in the darker subtext.

Having proved himself with Ship Shape, Sedaris encores with a short but hilarious encomium to NPR, describing it as "a conspiracy of Jews." What follows is another short story, this one about his brother, and a couple more short bits, then Q&A with the audience. The choice of material feels spontaneous, but like the stories themselves, there's a superbly crafted arc to the proceedings.

And what of Sedaris the performer? Like all good radio artists, he's mastered the art of characterizing with the voice, but his facial expressions and the sly way he gazes from page to audience adds an additional dimension. Again, Sedaris makes it look easy, but don't kid yourself -- it's practiced showmanship.

Anyway, I'm convinced -- and (to my great surprise) ready to join the NPR throngs at the next Sedaris reading.