I thought I had read Sara Barron before, but I guess I’m mixing her up with someone. Possibly Sloane Crosley. Or Sara Benincasa. I’ve read a lot of humorous memoirs written by funny women this year, courtesy of my sister’s bookshelf and Barnes & Noble addiction, and I think this was one of the better ones written by someone I’ve never heard of before.
Sara Barron’s memoir runs a pretty familiar comedy route: weird parents, awkward upbringing, a move to New York full of bad decisions and stupid boys and gross apartments. I feel her writing set her apart: she has a wonderful way with words that makes you almost want to read them out loud. She’s also a bit more poignant than some others, while doing a great job of finding the humor in dark situations.
I also loved, loved, loved that she shared the porn she wrote when she was 12 with an audience. It reminded me of the cringe-worthy journal entries that Pamie Ribon has posted. Not only does she share them, but she comments on them as well:
“I was convinced that all couples enjoyed a postcoital champagne toast. As far as I knew, where there’s sex, there would be bubbly. “That was very nice,” Jenny tells Mark in scene 8. “Now I’m going to go get the champagne.” It’s not the mix of sex and alcohol that I find odd, it’s the champagne-specific focus. Several awkward stints as a bridesmaid notwithstanding, champagne has been notably absent from my amour-making, personally. Beer, the occasional Zima in my younger days, these are my more frequent costars.”
That’s brave. And damn funny.
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