Things I've Learned From Women Who've Dumped Me ed. Ben Karlin

You may not realize it, but Ben Karlin has impressive comedy bona fides; he was, for a time, the executive producer of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report before leaving Comedy Central in 2006. He was also a writing lead on the wildly successful America: The Book under the same auspices.

Thing’s I’ve Learned From Women Who’ve Dumped Me is a relatively short anthology, collected/solicited by Karlin, of mostly humorous pieces about romantic breakups. Or it would be, if its writers didn’t so often stray from the assignment, but that’s not such a bad thing.

My general dislike of anthologies is well-documented; I generally find that the end result is inconsistent, and that for every gem, one is forced to endure three or four literary drudgeries. Though calling Things I’ve Learned “literary” is being perhaps a little generous (for the most part, these are humor writers and not writer writers, if that distinction even makes sense and isn’t terribly prejudiced), I find that it tends to follow the same pattern. The introduction by Nick Hornby is as uncommonly good as we might expect from a well-known novelist prefacing a book of comedy dispensers, and the rest vary from surprisingly good to torporously bad.

Since the theme of the book is being dumped, one might expect little more than a list of “Women…. amirite?” jokes in variously juvenile fashion, but Karlin, to his credit, has assembled writers with talent; some of their products are more or less effective in context. Stephen Colbert, perhaps one of the biggest comedy names in the table of contents, has a short piece which is largely a sight gag (so heavily redacted as to let the imagination run wild); Neal Pollack’s story isn’t about a girlfriend at all, but rather a somewhat poignant piece about his cat wrenched back into humor(?) via a detailed retelling of an incident wherein he once accidentally got a volume of his semen on said cat’s fur. Tom McCarthy’s Christian summer camp romance may actually be my favorite, though admittedly it’s much less funny than it is an all-around excellent story turned clever by its readers own sense of retrospection. Dan Savage is the token gay writer who, while his story is certainly memorable, comes off as a bawdier and less talented David Sedaris.

So what do all these disparate stories about the literal or figurative loss of a female of some species at some point in time ultimately have in common? Relationships serve as a litmus test for the personalities of the writers, as foils for their latter-day writing projects. Though written under the auspices of comedy, most of the pieces in Things I’ve Learned… strike me as more melancholy and navel-gazing memories than thigh-slapping yarns. Certainly there are funny things in them, but they’re largely situational, such as Tom McCarthy’s younger self’s fervent, Pentecostal reception of the “Holy Spirit”, or Pollack’s odd and isolated inclusion of the cat/semen joke at the beginning of a long and somewhat sad story about how much loved his pet for reasons entirely unrelated to masturbation. In other words, the humor in this book is mostly of a dry and understated variety, layered along the sides and crevices of general sensationalized autobiography. It works better than I make it sound.

What’s also interesting is the way in which the writers don’t necessarily lean on self-deprecation: there is some of that, but most of it is a sort of retrospective angst, focused at the awkwardness and humiliation and heartbreak that often accompanies one’s first relationship. In Dan Savage’s case, it was a confirmation of the sexual orientation he had suspected for some time; coming from a guy who is now known for dispensing relationship advice (or sometimes simply straight-up sex advice), it seems somehow comforting that his initial woolly and disconcerting early experiences either didn’t break his stride or in fact contributed to his apparent confidence and satisfaction later in life. Or, in Tom McCarthy’s story, the tendency toward miscommunication, however highly stylized, cannot be ignored: though Tom the character is barely a teenager, his poor decision to make assumptions about his beloved’s motivations is a common thread throughout relationships of all ages, and whether or not Tom really did rediscover these letters in his 40s and realize what a fool he’d been, the effect is still worthy of a Hornby novel.

When you begin to realize these things, you’ll also come to understand that the book’s title, Things I’ve Learned From Women Who’ve Dumped Me is not necessarily a joke at all. In many of the stories (excluding those whose intent is clearly and solely comedic), the focal point is a life lesson which narrative simply happens to be funny.

The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie

For many people, House might be their first exposure to British actor Hugh Laurie; others, especially if you live on the Isles or have a particular affection for British television, may very well know him from many other things. My first exposure was in Blackadder, with the stupendous Rowan Atkinson (Mr. Bean, for those who don’t know). What I didn’t know, however, was that Laurie had written a book; had written a book, in fact, a very long time ago (1996, to be precise) before he was an international star. Needless to say, I went out right away and picked up the book.

I wasn’t expecting The Gun Seller to be a fine piece of literature; actors aren’t generally known for their fine writing skills. Yet, I found that Laurie’s debut (and currently only) novel was not only tremendously entertaining, but also remarkably well-written, as well. The book is like the sort of BBC dramedy that Laurie has starred in previously: rapier-sharp dialog, peppered with particularly British turns of phrase; one can almost envision Laurie in the role, opposite Stephen Fry as the stoic Solomon, Rowan Atkinson as the foppish O’Neal, and some sprightly English lass as the ravishing Sarah Woolf.

The story of The Gun Seller may be likened thematically to the mediocre excremental Nicolas Cage flick, Lord of War: it’s a very oblique and comedically-obscured attack of the military-industrial complex, arms dealing, and its incestuous relationship with the government (any government). On the whole, though, it’s a bit slapstick, a bit James Bond, and a bit Bruce-Willis-in-Die-Hard, “reluctant hero kicking ass and taking names.” It’s the story of Thomas Lang, an ex-soldier working freelance who is drawn into a web of intrigue after he declines and offer to assassinate an American business. Insert into the mix several attractive ladies, gun battles, sex, more gun battles, hard-boiled dialog, and even a missile.

None of the plot twists last for very long before they turn in on themselves and become some strange new creature; they don’t always appear to resolve themselves either, as the expected ending for the book is deftly sidestepped but never fully explained. It’s one of the few faults I can find with the novel, including some unrealistic conversations and strange character decisions that don’t quite follow logically from the preceding events. Perhaps that’s an integral part of the genre that Laurie is spoofing (I haven’t read enough to know).

All things being equal, I really enjoyed The Gun Seller; it was witty, fun to read, and had a lot more to it than I would have expected from a crime spoof. I think Laurie has a real talent at writing, if for no other reason than his dialogue is so fun and refreshing and his characters are enjoyable. This won’t be the best book you read this year, but I heartily recommend it, regardless.

Night of the Avenging Blowfish by John Welter

I’ve read this one before, and yet a couple of weeks ago I got an inexplicable urge to read it again.

I’m not aware of Welter writing anything after the mid-1990s and I wonder what ever happened to him, though I can understand how his style of Marx Bros. ripostes and Monty Python silliness would wane in popularity in the cultural context of the new century. Don’t get me wrong: Night of the Avenging Blowfish is funny, but funny from a braver age.

I’m not sure if I realized, when I last read the book, how much its humor relies on relatively simple puns and turns of phrase: the banter between Doyle Coldiron and the rest of his Secret Service comrades-in-arms is mostly wordplay. Granted, it’s funny wordplay, but it also lacks meat—it’s funny only briefly, and Welter has to keep the pace blistering in order not to lose the reader’s attention.

I also realized that when Welter (as Coldiron) goes into his opining, Seinfeld-esque “And what’s the deal with women, anyhow?” shtick, I want to put the book down and walk away. It reminds me too much of my writing as a 15-year-old, thinking I was brilliant and funny when I was really just churning out self-referential schlock.

Then, too, Night of the Avenging Blowfish is really a romantic comedy, chronicling the pathetic love life and eventual torrid romance of its Secret Service protagonist, so it veers wildly between chuckle-worthy jokes and really, really maudlin passages where Doyle just wants to be held, &c., &c., which is all good and fine if you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, but it’s a bit passive-aggressive here, where it seems strange and out of place, as though Welter suddenly forgot what book he was writing.

I thought I enjoyed it more the first time I read it, though now that I revisit my old post, I see that I had many of the same thoughts as a do now. Then, too, my reading this time around was interrupted by the death of my father, which sort of cast a pall over any humorous stories.

Long story short: if you’ve got a taste for an easy book with rapidfire humor, heavy on puns and verbal jokes, you might just enjoy Night of the Avenging Blowfish; otherwise, you’re not really missing all that much.