I Was Told There'd Be Cake

Sloane Crosley has been compared to David Sedaris and other masters of quick witted scoundral-ism ever since the release of I Was Told There’d Be Cake last year. I was wary of this diagnosis, as I believe Sedaris to be a genius who I would follow to the ends of the earth (have you ever heard him read his own work on public radio? Ah-mazing!). I did, however, come to develop a special place in my heart for this new, critically acclaimed author.
Crosley is perfectly unselfconscious and even somewhat narcissistic in her writing style. Her stories are seen solely through her eyes, filtered exclusively through her quirky interpretations, and yet somehow they bare a startling resemblance to pieces of our own experiences. Her observations are often a little dark and always a lot funny, and there is a suburban quality to her work that I particularly like (one that reminds me of ho-hum afternoons spent listening to the squeak of empty swing sets swaying over deserted tanbark playgrounds-- does anyone else have this memory?). It is here in the day-to-day that the author finds these lovely poignant moments, the ones that are so special because we've all had them, even if we could not articulate them. In a style that is brilliantly plain and clever Crosley tells the stories we all wish we knew how to tell-- stories of our families, of where we grew up, of who we are, of who we wish we were, and of the plans we've made for our unborn Flemish children. With all this wit there is nothing left for one to do than laugh, reflect, and eagerly read on. It is my humble opinion that Ms. Crosley deserves all the praise she has received.