It's not a pretty laugh, or even a joyful laugh; it's the kind of laughter you'd hear coming from someone who is about to jump off the top of a building.
It's fucking crazy time.
I still can't believe I'm doing this. God help me, let's get started.
Years ago, it came to pass that our dear Cheryl decided that she was in some way qualified to write an advice column. This makes sense because everyone knows that narcissistic, lying shitbags are the best people to turn to when you're having a crisis; they always have such insightful things to say. About themselves. And not you. Or your problems.
So, really, she's pretty much the last person you should turn to for advice if you have a functional brain, however emotionally damaged your brain may temporarily be.
Anyway, Cheryl landed herself an advice column called "Dear Sugar" because she is an ingenious sociopath, and all these years later, she decided to use her newfound fame from the inexplicable success of "Wild" to force her publisher to release a book chock-full of all of her amazing advice. Lucky everybody.
This is going to be a shitstorm.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
If you enlarge the photo (go ahead, click on the photo, nothing bad will happen) and direct your attention to the right side of the cover, you will find the quote, " Let yourself be gutted. Let it open you. Start here."
Since 1) I decided to post the cover in the teaser and 2) you guys are pretty much the best people on earth, let me share some feedback from a couple delightful readers:
"Uhm... WTF is with the inner cover flap?
'Let yourself be gutted. Let it open you. Start here...'
That's not how books work, Cheryl. That is, unless you are advocating the use of successive paper cuts to help put someone out of their misery. :-(
I thought this was a self help book? Since when is gutting one's self considered helpful?
'Let yourself be gutted.' Good lord - could we be a bit more melodramatic?"
Alison joined in:
"Gutted: adj. disappointed and upset. Yes, Bad Cheryl. I do believe I will have no choice but to allow myself to be gutted by your book."
Well played, you two. I just may be able to retire and let you write this for me. Since, however, I doubt you have the death wish with which I'm cursed, I will keep going. For now.
Now, let me open the book ever so slightly:
Holy fuck, would you look at that.
The actual cover was cut a couple centimeters short of the rest of the book in order for CHERYL STRAYED TO QUOTE HERSELF IN FULL VIEW.
It only gets worse when you open it all the way:
I SAY THE MOST PROFOUND THINGS.
WHO DOES THIS.
After contemplating this horseshit for a moment or two, I went to my bookcase, closed my eyes and retrieved three books at random. I then opened each book to discover what lay just beyond the cover.
Hey, look at that.
Fucking Steinbeck. What a diva.
So, yeah. Real writers (T.S Elliot, Erich Fromm and John Steinbeck, from the examples) have no desire to go Full Asshole. Not our Cheryl. She's so amazing that she needs to slather her own brilliance right on the inside cover so we won't miss a word.
And so ends the introduction.
I would like to take a moment for full disclosure:
I spent countless months dissecting "Wild" before I decided to write about it. I *just* bought "Tiny Beautiful Things" and I need some time to read through it all, take notes, destroy the margins of the book with my outrage and then share my incredulousness with all of you. Please allow me at least a few days to read and research this book accordingly (though, admittedly a few days won't be enough time, but I shall do my best). If you've been with me from the start, you know that I am very thorough, honest and accurate. While I hate making you wait for the next installment, I want to give you the best that I can give. I need a little time to review this correctly.
Hugs and kisses,