rachelmanija (
rachelmanija) wrote2010-01-26 12:05 pm
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Cleaving: a story of marriage, meat, and obsession, by Julie Powell
A memoir on butchery and, alas, an extra-marital affair, by the author of Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously
. (Loved the original blog. Did not love the book adaptation, which lost all the charm and humor of the blog’s food-writing in a morass of uninteresting memoir.
Met Julie herself at a book event several years ago, and learned via the horse’s mouth that she has double-D breasts (“Damn hard to find a good bra when you have tits like mine.”) She was very drunk. As was I. As were all the writers present. We were at a promotional dinner with very bad food but fairly good wine. Two of the guys escorted her to her hotel room to pour her into bed. One returned with a dollar bill crammed down the front of his pants, and the other one informed us that Julie had felt up his cell phone.)
So, Cleaving! I did not get very far into this book, so I’m only giving my impressions of what I did manage to read before giving up. Julie gets interested in butchery and becomes a butcher’s apprentice. Meanwhile, she’s having an affair, and her husband is also having an affair, and she knows and he knows but this is not an open marriage so they are unhappy, and everything reminds her of sex and sausages are like penises and rib racks are like vaginas and gloves are like condoms and joints split like marriages and blah de blah blah blah. Guys, it is all so TMI! Here is a representative quote (she is getting text messages):
Two messages, two men.
The first: How’s the meat?
The second: Mhm.
Does everyone talk like this, in these codes? I decipher both perfectly. One pulls at me with a thousand strands of anxiety and obligation and love and solicitude and guilt; the other with a single knowing yank, the guttural syllable that brings me to heel.
To both my answer is the same: I’m on my way.
It’s not merely the thought of how turned off I would be by a lover texting me a Neanderthal grunt. (“Ayla! UNH!”) It’s that this isn’t sordid TMI alchemized into art. It’s just sordid TMI.
Too much boyfriend, not enoughroller derby butchery.
Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession
Met Julie herself at a book event several years ago, and learned via the horse’s mouth that she has double-D breasts (“Damn hard to find a good bra when you have tits like mine.”) She was very drunk. As was I. As were all the writers present. We were at a promotional dinner with very bad food but fairly good wine. Two of the guys escorted her to her hotel room to pour her into bed. One returned with a dollar bill crammed down the front of his pants, and the other one informed us that Julie had felt up his cell phone.)
So, Cleaving! I did not get very far into this book, so I’m only giving my impressions of what I did manage to read before giving up. Julie gets interested in butchery and becomes a butcher’s apprentice. Meanwhile, she’s having an affair, and her husband is also having an affair, and she knows and he knows but this is not an open marriage so they are unhappy, and everything reminds her of sex and sausages are like penises and rib racks are like vaginas and gloves are like condoms and joints split like marriages and blah de blah blah blah. Guys, it is all so TMI! Here is a representative quote (she is getting text messages):
Two messages, two men.
The first: How’s the meat?
The second: Mhm.
Does everyone talk like this, in these codes? I decipher both perfectly. One pulls at me with a thousand strands of anxiety and obligation and love and solicitude and guilt; the other with a single knowing yank, the guttural syllable that brings me to heel.
To both my answer is the same: I’m on my way.
It’s not merely the thought of how turned off I would be by a lover texting me a Neanderthal grunt. (“Ayla! UNH!”) It’s that this isn’t sordid TMI alchemized into art. It’s just sordid TMI.
Too much boyfriend, not enough
Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession
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Or maybe it's just me, but that seems to be the most common problem I have with this sort of thing: too much boyfriend, not enough thing I picked the book up for in the first place.
(I also enjoyed the Julie blog better than the book, which also had far too little cooking and far too much... other stuff. Although not as much sordid TMI as it sounds like this one has, and in fact hearing that this one was more TMI than butchery is why I haven't picked it up. I think butchery is interesting! Her relationship problems, not so much.)
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It's not just you. I remember reading Anthony Rapp's memoir, and being ambushed by a description of his first blowjob (not to mention his cybersex adventures) in detail. Dude, I just want to read about the musical! TMI!
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But the actual bits about writing greeting cards were only maybe 20% of the book. Another 20% was office politics, which technically was related to the work but which, in fact, was no more specific to greeting cards than to anything else. It could have been office politics anywhere.
But the real problem was that the remaining 60% was, more or less, about his problems with his fiance and his quest to have sex for the first time. I'm being a little unfair there, as there was some religious background issues and etc., and it wasn't written in a particularly skeevy way... but really, honestly, the entire central arc of the book was about him trying to get laid. Which. Was not what I bought a book about greeting card writing for!
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So I flipped to the end to see how it resolved.
Answer: it doesn't! Status quo is exactly the same at the beginning and the end, except that she knows more about butchering!
Which leads me to think of the whole thing as even more of a colossal waste of time.
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which I mmmmight have a bit of experience in. XDETA: The problem with the book is that I think a pre-copy-edited version made it to the printer, and it was full of typos. Oops!
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I swear to God, this happens in that book. (Here from james_nicoll's friendslist, not
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And, along the same lines, while there's a certain extent to which a little self-absorption is defensible and probably necessary when you're writing the memoir, since it is about you... you don't want it to leak out onto the page. You-the-writer may need to be a bit self-absorbed; you-the-character-in-your-own-book had probably better not be.
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Also, AIEEEEEE!
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If I could give memoir-writers a single tip on how to do that, I'd say, "Don't forget that you have to be interesting to the readers, who are not inherently fascinated by you already. You have to make them interested by leaving out the boring and annoying bits."
I'm not sure that the persona has to be likable, though it's definitely a plus. But the persona has to be interesting and enjoyable to read about.
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My theory: many memoirists do not actually have enough content for a full book, and should really have written a long article. Hence the irritating padding and inability to stick to their announced topic.
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SNRK.
Also I totally misread your opening line and thought she had had an extramarital affair with a butch lesbian. WHOOPS.
rib racks are like vaginas
EW WHAT....should we all be happy she didn't go work at the Seafood Shop? http://www.theseafoodshop.com/
I wasn't a big fan of the blog, but I thought the premise was sort of fun and the writing was occasionally charming. Man, did the book seem to blow all that. I think part of the fun with ongoing blogs is just that, they're -ongoing- -- you really are seeing her trying to dish out all those recipes day by day. A book is a different experience. I think it's possible to give the _effect_ of day-by-day experiences in a book, but it requires a certain amount of skill wrt compression and condensantion, neither of which lend themselves to blogging.
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//is grumpy
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Which somehow is even worse.
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I think sometimes Peter Greenaway does it very well, and sometimes gets repetitive and zzzz.