BOOK REVIEW: Speak Not Ill Of The Dead, But...

(Originally Published 2001, Paperback Edition 226 pages)

 

I knew little about Mr. Rakoff (1964-2012) except a brief obituary aired on NPR. This was his first collection of essays which was published in 2001. I had few expectations beyond hearing he was a funny, insightful writer. Well, two pages into Mr. Rakoff's book and my impression was the guy sounded like the stereotype of a catty gay man. I had no idea if he was gay or not until page 13 and, as Jerry Seinfeld once said, "Not that there's anything wrong with that." But, mercy, the guy certainly laid on thick the whiny, vituperative observations. Much like Wade Rouse's book "At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream," Mr. Rakoff makes many, many, MANY cultural references that few heterosexual men would know. I kept having to google oodles of obscure trivia. Some of his writing is very funny, but a lot of it is just nasty which I found to be off putting.

 

The essays are a hodgepodge of personal experiences. The author goes mountain climbing in New Hampshire; recalls his early years of being a teenage, Jewish socialist; working as a gopher in New York City publishing; working in a Toronto ice cream parlor; attending a self-help retreat; visiting a soap opera set; taking undeserved potshots at Robin Williams; being a Christmas Freud display during the holidays; pursuing the Loch Ness Monster; joining a survival training workshop and revisiting Tokyo. Each work has its funny, insightful moments, but the snarky, condescending attitude permeates the entire book. I'm not sure if this was Mr. Rakoff's actual personality or just some shtick, but he comes across sometimes as a pretentious jerk and at other times as a insecure jerk.

 

I'd be surprised if readers don't fall into either hating or liking Mr. Rakoff's stuff. There were times I wanted to just give up on the darned thing. Thankfully, it is a short work. What kept me interested is the author does have some very funny wordplay throughout it. His last piece in the book about having Hodgkin's disease was very good. No question, Mr. Rakoff was a talented writer, but reading a pile of his stuff at one time became more an endurance test for me in not to throwing "Fraud" across the room and giving up on it.
 

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #356)