This is the late essayist and NPR (This American Life) contributor’s first book. Two more followed in his too short life-span—he died in 2012 at 47. The cause was his second battle with cancer. A recounting of the first, when he was in his young 20s, closes this collection. A posthumous verse-novel has since been published to strong praise. The buzz for the novel and my own optimistic compulsion to begin at the beginning, assuming a good thing would only get better, led me to start with this volume of his essays, a vacation e-book purchase, but I was underwhelmed and I found nothing very much interesting here, mostly travel essays and a David Sedaris-like essay about posing as Freud for a clothing store’s holiday window display.

They say he got better and to the degree that order of appearance in the book represents chronology of origin there is reason to believe that. Three of the four final essays were the most interesting. An essay about Austrian math and science teachers imported into the New York City public school system, a return visit to Tokyo a number of years after his first post-college trip had been cut short by illness (his first cancer), and an essay written when he’d thought he was long clear of cancer and was thus a mature man’s attempt at closure via a trip to Toronto to track down his pre-chemo sperm deposit.

That essay was hard to read, particularly because at the start he discusses downplaying his bout with cancer, calling it “dilettante cancer,” partly because he feels guilty about being young and healthy again and partly because he had some denial about the seriousness of the illness, despite the chemo and its brutal side-effects. With the illness comfortably in his rear-view mirror he is ready to confront the reality of his experience, hence the visit to “his Eskimo Pie children.” The unintentional irony clouds the reading. The distraction of the irony, however, is about me, not him. And the irony is not serious, the cancer is. And even two seconds of thought makes you understand that it’s better that he thought he was done with cancer than expecting a sudden relapse every moment going forward, I found myself feeling as I read like someone in a movie theater wanting to yell at a character that Jason is right behind you. Stop talking and run! But the fool was me, not him, and I got through the essay thinking about what he likely did write in response to cancer’s return visit to him—how that would be sharp, funny, and likely courageous. It made me think that if I were to try another book by Rakoff it would be his third collection, Don’t Get Too Comfortable. In any event, this first collection was the wrong place for me to begin my reading relationship with the author.

Casually pretentious, in exactly the way that makes his radio stories great, but it really makes a whole book of stories pretty tiresome. There's only so many stories about how above it all the author is that one can take in a single sitting.

The funniest of these essays were not new to me. It was enjoyable, but not mind blowing.

This is a bit of a time capsule, seeing as it was published in 2001, prior to the events of 9/11. It was a very different time, those days of economic boom. So it's a bit of a trip to read this 18 years later. Make mistake, David Rakoff is NOT David Sedaris, and that's ok. He's still hilarious, in his own dark, sad way. The unifying theme here is that one way or another, we're all frauds, pretending to be something we're not. And that, too, is ok.

Picked by: Leandra

It's funny and incredibly intelligent and so satisfying in its manifold jokes and shrewdly intelligent observations that no other book comes close (except possibly George Saunders' "Brain Dead Megaphone," or more acutely the eponymous essay, which I find myself referencing at least once a month). It's called "Fraud," and it's written by the late David Rakoff, a regular contributor to This American Life. (I'd recommend first listening to the posthumous tribute. David Rakoff tragically died in 2012 from cancer at the too-tender age of 48.) On a lighter note, Rakoff once described Karl Lagerfeld (who asked the author, "What can you write that hasn't been written already?") as an oligarch with a "doughy rump."

I enjoyed these stories a lot. Rakoff provokes thought while delivering laughs. I wish the book were a lot longer. Unfortunately amazon.com says he's written only one other book. Dang it!

I mentioned that I laughed until I cried at one of Rakoff's other books. From the first essay in this one, I offer two GORGEOUS quotes:

"His voice is velvet soft and Atticus Finch authoritative, but there's a sad whiff of mortality -- a smell of old leaves underneath everything he speaks of: the solitude of retirement, the nomadic life of the career renovator, the trial and test of faith that is building a butcher block island with sink, work area, and recessed halogen light fixtures. It's a bit like watching 'This Old House' hosted by Baudelaire."

"In New England everyone calls you "Dave" regardless of however many times you might introduce yourself as David. I am reminded of those fanatically religious homophobes who stand on the steps of St. Patrick's Cathedral during Gay Pride, holding signs that say "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!" I have always wanted to go up to them and say, "Well, of course not Adam and Steve. NEVER Adam and Steve. It's Adam and STEVEN."

I weep for joy!

I find I can really relate to David Rakoff, well .. Im not gay or Jewish but I do try to engage in the often underappreciated art of self deprecation like he does. Although I am not as good at it.
I try to read as much of his work as I am able; this has a lot of great stories from the often tardy exploits of spiritual leader Steven Seagal to city dwellers taking on a survival camp and learning how to live in the forest to a touching finale of him using his sarcasm and wit to deal with cancer treatments while potentially annoying those closest to him.

Enjoyed it, didn't rock my world though - I think "Don't get too comfortable" which had more thematic cohesion is an overall better book. Having said that, I do like Rakoff's take on the world around him, especially on his travel pieces: he is able to take what is alien or strange and point out how this actually just comes from a perception or view of the world, not from the thing itself. And by engaging the world outside and not just doing a personal memoir (and, let's say it, bypassing some of the more outlandish amplifications / distortions of experience that a David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs can be guilty of) he is much more relatable. He is also, infallibly, kind to his subjects (that highlighted review out there that says he keeps pointing how everything sucks is completely off the mark - take a look at his depiction of a nature survival training course and you'll find nothing but admiration for those involved). Overall, a good collection that ends in a high note (the last essay is a standout).

David Rakoff is a rare talent. We're lucky that he's left behind such remarkable work, both written and spoken. Each of the essays in Fraud are enthralling and hilarious. Will definitely be recommending this to anyone looking to start reading Rakoff.

When I began reading this book I hated it, the author writes in such a self absorbed way that made several of the initial chapters difficult to read because it's so difficult to relate to the author.
However, as the book progressed I started to enjoy the narratives and the general style of writing.

Though in comparison to his freinds (david sedaris, sarah vowell) his essays are not as funny I would still recommend this book as a primer for his newer book.