A few months ago, I devoured We Are Never Meeting in Real Life. Knowing that the title is true makes me sad. I want to know Irby. We could make cocktails and talk about dating with chronic pain. And then make more cocktails and talk about everything else.
This week, I read Irby’s first book, Meaty.
If you’re reading this, you’re the kind of person who should read it as well. Irby is both funny and touching, unique and relatable. She is also a great writer. Most of the essays are standard biography, but others play with form.
It was in one of those chapters, one that talked about characters in a tv show she’d like to make, that I saw myself:
Nell’s caught in the trap of being smart enough to be pissed about all the societal pressure to find happiness through a mate and money, and bighearted enough to yearn for real love and companionship in her life. She’s caught between believing she deserves a life mate and believing it’s a complete impossibility; between believing prosperity and fulfillment are attainable and her dim economic prospects. She’s been burned many times before but is too resilient and/or deluded to abandon hope entirely. (83)
(I’m pretty sure “resilient and/or deluded” is in my medical records somewhere.)
I love these books, and the recipes she includes for things like spicy flourless chocolate cake are not the only ideas that I’ll carry with me after reading them.
