Sloane Crosley, Why Are You So Funny?

I picked up Sloane Crosley's I Was Told There'd Be Cake because of the dioramas.

Following a link on Critical Mass, I found that Crosley had not only created Plexiglas-encased diorama sets for her essays, she had also narrated video tours of them. (The full story of The Diorama Diaries is on her website, including a trip with her dad to a place called PlasticWorks.)

And, there's more. The book has a video trailer with paper pony stand-ups, a Hot Wheels ambulance, and a bit with fingers wearing pants that I can't really write about on this blog. Every book should have a video trailer.

Though Crosley has been widely published, with essays in the Village Voice, Playboy, Salon, and The New York Times, I Was Told There'd Be Cake is her first book.

I read the book. It was hilarious. I had questions, and she was kind enough to answer them. --Heidi

Amazon.com: People have compared you to David Sedaris, Sarah Vowell, Dorothy Parker, even a post-modern Mary Tyler Moore. Do you relate to this at all or does it just seem like a way for people to place you in a category that readers can connect with in some way?

Sloane Crosley: A little bit of both. I try not to relate to the part of the Dorothy Parker comparison where she’s suicidal and swallows a bottle of shoe polish. But what huge and wonderfully distinct compliments each of those comparisons are. I don’t flatter myself by assuming I’m in the same ballpark as those people in terms of their end products. But I do hope that I have some of the same basic motivations behind writing humor essays.

Amazon.com: What has been the response to the dioramas and videos?

SC: So far the response has been quite positive. Then again, are people likely to become enraged by videos of dioramas? I certainly nose-dived into the crazy pool by making them to begin with and then soaked myself to the bone by having them filmed. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do with the dioramas themselves. Maybe auction them off for charity. Diorama rescue.

Amazon.com: All the essays are funny, but in the ones that really stood out for me (like "The Ursula Cookie" and "Smell This") you were able to take simple funny stories about common experiences and push them to their full comic potential. Does that emerge out of your rewriting process, or from your general outlook on life?

SC: Those are very different essays so I’m glad those are the two that stood out for you. Perhaps what connects them is that they both begin with the seed of a general outlook on life -- this is how things are supposed to be, this is how I foresee the course of events. When those preconceived notions get pummeled, that’s where the comedic potential comes in. But it certainly has to be refined beyond the comedy of what actually happened at the time. I don’t think I’d be able to function properly if I was walking around thinking in essay format. I’d never get anything done.

Amazon.com: How do you find essays evolving as you write them? Do they come out pretty much like you planned, or do new things come to light as you're writing? Like, for example, with "The Ursula Cookie," did you start out by writing about your cookie tendencies, your esteem-crushing first job, or 9/11?

SC: The majority of an essay is written how I planned it. But in a very Meta twist, the endings are almost always a surprise to me. “Meta” because the whole nature of the collection really revolves around dashed expectations and that’s how the essays written about those experiences come to pass. For “The Ursula Cookie” in particular, I knew it was going to be a fairly lengthy and complicated one so it was as simple as me starting at the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start.

Amazon.com: The voice in your essays is one of a person who has a very active inner dialogue but who doesn't say much (and, especially, doesn't comment out loud unless she's sure it will be funny). Is this a character voice that you tend to choose for the essays, or is this you?

SC: Ah, to only ever say the thing you mean to say when you mean to say it! This, second to a photographic memory, would be my ideal conversational trick. Alas, I do have a lot more dialogue in real life, as you might imagine. Some of it is vaguely amusing, most of it not as perfectly packaged, as it is when you have a delete key at your fingertips.

Amazon.com: You just finished a book tour. How did it go? Were you able to get a sense of your audience outside of New York?

SC: The tour went well. There’s a lot of getting up before sunrise and catching flights. (I know, the smallest violin is playing for me.) There was also a fair amount of cake. But really: it’s overwhelmingly touching and exhilarating to meet people who have read what you’ve written and gotten something out of it. Hell, it’s sincerely touching to meet people who tell you they plan on doing that, even if they were dragged to the reading by a friend. Some crowds were bigger than others but all the bookstores and people I met were very supportive. Plus, I had my miniature hotel shampoo to welcome me home each night. Given my aforementioned penchant for tiny things, this was pretty thrilling in itself.

Amazon.com: When I first picked up the book and saw the blurbs, I thought, ok, wow, who is this person? She knows a lot of writers. Then after I read the essays, I thought, ok, wow, these blurbs really fit the style of the book (esp. Jonathan Ames and Meghan Daum). What was that process like--choosing who to ask and getting the blurbs?

SC: It’s a real favor to ask someone to read what you’ve written before it’s had the final coat of polish and then, on top of that, to ask them to attach their name to it. So I certainly didn’t ask every writer I’ve ever worked with. Some would just be inappropriate (I’m thinking of historians or mystery writers… “I Was Told There’d Be Murder!”). In the end, I approached a select few writers I felt would be most appropriate and Riverhead did the same. So the blurbs are pretty much split down the middle in terms of how the authors were approached. I was pretty floored by their responses.

Amazon.com: How does your work as a publicist influence your work as a writer?

SC: I am lucky enough to work with people who I would read even if I didn’t have a career in book publishing. This makes my day job easier but the writing more difficult, as it’s clearly daunting. The good part is, frankly, at least I know I’m not filling my head with junk. I would be pleased if just a portion of their standards remained with me when I sat down to write.

Amazon.com: What writers influence your work?

SC: It’s difficult to pick but I am a fan of David Rakoff, Dorothy Parker and Geoff Dyer when it comes to the humor essay format in general. Style-wise, I also like short story writers such as Lorrie Moore and Tobias Wolff (for language) and Katherine Mansfield and Russell Banks (for plot). 

Amazon.com: You talk on your website about how you used to write fiction, then switched to essay writing. Do you still write fiction?

SC: I do. I have two projects. One is an older novel, which will never see the light of day. Well, until I need to get to someone else stored in the same drawer. Living in a modestly sized apartment in Manhattan, everything you own sees “the light of day” about once a week. It’s not like I have a crawl space. But I am working on a new novel, which I’m very excited about…

Amazon.com: I enjoyed your Author's Note [which explains that people's names were changed], but I still couldn't help but wonder if any of your friends recognized themselves in "Smell This?" I think you probably know what my next question is.

SC: I had an interest in retaining the friendships on which I based that essay. I warned people about their appearances in advance and gave them a copy of it. I suppose it’s possible that they never would have recognized themselves otherwise. You never know--good or bad, people often see themselves differently than you see them.

As for the fecal offering deposited on my bathroom rug at the end of the essay, I’m afraid I can’t tell you who left it--it’s between me and the Anti-Defecation League, I say. I will tell you that after portraying the experience in diorama form, I will never look at hazelnuts the same way again.