Penetrating and frequently poetic, although some self-psychoanalytic sections seem less relevant.


Hannan chronicles her young daughter Nadia’s struggle with cancer and the affects it has on her family.

Nadia is only 8 years old when a seemingly mundane incident—cracking her jaw on Halloween candy—reveals a harrowing condition at odds with her vigor and independent spirit: bone cancer; specifically, Ewing’s sarcoma. Often with lyrical phrasing, Hannan recalls with pitch-perfect empathy the diagnosis, construction of a medical defense and her family’s response. When she recounts her experience, years past, of witnessing her mother’s decline at the hands of a different cancer—of feeling like an outsider, torn in judgment of her own needs—the flashbacks blend cleanly into her present story. Current experiences reanimate latent memories of rejection, separation anxiety and straightforward fear. While it’s beyond argument that traumatic experiences such as a child’s health crisis will rattle strong emotions, some of these intensely self-analytical glances backward feel intrusive to the point of being off-putting; they would better serve a more sharply defined memoir. This account, while largely a memoir focused on the fits and starts of personal psychological healing, also reads as the tale of a spirited girl triumphing over her nemesis, as well as a self-help guide for families buckling under the weight of a child’s diagnosis. Eventually, a clearer track emerges: Hannan’s frustration over not seeing the reality of her pain honestly reflected in society. In that vein, some passages—such as the physical and emotional steps for cleaning a catheter—poignantly convey the scope of the experience. With chronological pliancy, Hannan steers through Nadia’s chemotherapy, surgery and healing processes, concentrating by turns on how her family provides the needed emotional support and on the child’s own swiftly changing perception of herself.

Penetrating and frequently poetic, although some self-psychoanalytic sections seem less relevant.

Pub Date: Feb. 28, 2012

ISBN: 978-1933880273

Page Count: 328

Publisher: Cavankerry

Review Posted Online: Aug. 13, 2012

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2012

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If the authors are serious, this is a silly, distasteful book. If they are not, it’s a brilliant satire.


The authors have created a sort of anti-Book of Virtues in this encyclopedic compendium of the ways and means of power.

Everyone wants power and everyone is in a constant duplicitous game to gain more power at the expense of others, according to Greene, a screenwriter and former editor at Esquire (Elffers, a book packager, designed the volume, with its attractive marginalia). We live today as courtiers once did in royal courts: we must appear civil while attempting to crush all those around us. This power game can be played well or poorly, and in these 48 laws culled from the history and wisdom of the world’s greatest power players are the rules that must be followed to win. These laws boil down to being as ruthless, selfish, manipulative, and deceitful as possible. Each law, however, gets its own chapter: “Conceal Your Intentions,” “Always Say Less Than Necessary,” “Pose as a Friend, Work as a Spy,” and so on. Each chapter is conveniently broken down into sections on what happened to those who transgressed or observed the particular law, the key elements in this law, and ways to defensively reverse this law when it’s used against you. Quotations in the margins amplify the lesson being taught. While compelling in the way an auto accident might be, the book is simply nonsense. Rules often contradict each other. We are told, for instance, to “be conspicuous at all cost,” then told to “behave like others.” More seriously, Greene never really defines “power,” and he merely asserts, rather than offers evidence for, the Hobbesian world of all against all in which he insists we live. The world may be like this at times, but often it isn’t. To ask why this is so would be a far more useful project.

If the authors are serious, this is a silly, distasteful book. If they are not, it’s a brilliant satire.

Pub Date: Sept. 1, 1998

ISBN: 0-670-88146-5

Page Count: 430

Publisher: Viking

Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 15, 1998

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A sweet-and-sour set of pieces on loss, absurdity, and places they intersect.


Sedaris remains stubbornly irreverent even in the face of pandemic lockdowns and social upheaval.

In his previous collection of original essays, Calypso (2018), the author was unusually downbeat, fixated on aging and the deaths of his mother and sister. There’s bad news in this book, too—most notably, the death of his problematic and seemingly indestructible father at 96—but Sedaris generally carries himself more lightly. On a trip to a gun range, he’s puzzled by boxer shorts with a holster feature, which he wishes were called “gunderpants.” He plays along with nursing-home staffers who, hearing a funnyman named David is on the premises, think he’s Dave Chappelle. He’s bemused by his sister Amy’s landing a new apartment to escape her territorial pet rabbit. On tour, he collects sheaves of off-color jokes and tales of sexual self-gratification gone wrong. His relationship with his partner, Hugh, remains contentious, but it’s mellowing. (“After thirty years, sleeping is the new having sex.”) Even more serious stuff rolls off him. Of Covid-19, he writes that “more than eight hundred thousand people have died to date, and I didn’t get to choose a one of them.” The author’s support of Black Lives Matter is tempered by his interest in the earnest conscientiousness of organizers ensuring everyone is fed and hydrated. (He refers to one such person as a “snacktivist.”) Such impolitic material, though, puts serious essays in sharper, more powerful relief. He recalls fending off the flirtations of a 12-year-old boy in France, frustrated by the language barrier and other factors that kept him from supporting a young gay man. His father’s death unlocks a crushing piece about dad’s inappropriate, sexualizing treatment of his children. For years—chronicled in many books—Sedaris labored to elude his father’s criticism. Even in death, though, it proves hard to escape or laugh off.

A sweet-and-sour set of pieces on loss, absurdity, and places they intersect.

Pub Date: May 31, 2022

ISBN: 978-0-316-39245-7

Page Count: 272

Publisher: Little, Brown

Review Posted Online: March 11, 2022

Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2022

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