Probably the funniest thing I've ever read. This man was a genius of humour so tragically lost. But his words live on and I could read them over and over again. Whereas David Sedaris is sometimes a bit of a miss for me, Rakoff is non stop, laugh out loud hilarious.

David Rakoff is essentially David Sedaris yet somehow even more pretentious and, admittedly, as an expert etymologist, potentially more clever and effective. This collection of short stories can be moving, at times, even endearing. But they are mostly sardonic quips and opining of electron-leaning voltage. Is it accessible? Nope. Is it relatable? To a truly miniscule, pigeon-holed niche audience, it will assuredly knock the socks off of wholly unsuspecting feet.

Here are just a few of my favorite moments:

“I return to the inn, now wreathed in the kind of Christmas-in-New-England-Warm-Hearthed-Cheery versimilitude that Ralph Lauren would burn down a synagogue to achieve” (p. 7).

To describe a festive mealtime scene:
“I can hear general revelry and prandial merriment coming from the dining room” (also on p. 7).

When describing a dog on the verge of vomiting:
“My reverie is undone by the strange series of glottal kecks and surds coming from below” (p. 9).

To describe utmost masculinity: “We greeted the news with that respectful Hemingway Silence of the Y Chromosome” (p. 20).

The absurd yet perfect description as a human portraying “German expressionist cheerleader” qualities (p. 21) or the “like aweakly chromosomed Hapsburg” (p. 105) and “She is lung-collapsingly, jaw-droppingly, fall-down-on-the-sidewalk-teeth-first-take-a-bottle-of-pills-and-throw-yourself-out-a-window beautiful” (p. 69). “A blonde, her mane a carefully styled imitation of postcoital disarray” (p. 51).
“...an Icarus-like moment of hubris…” (p.112).

“But like the making of sausages, federal legislation, and the film work of Robin Williams, there are some things I would just rather not witness firsthand” (p. 22). This segues into a scathing, anti-tribute to the aforementioned comedian in the essay “The Best Medicine” later on in the book. The culmination of the seething opinion might just be the following: “Watching his live act over almost two decades - the endless reel of cocaine jokes and spooks of Valley-speak - drives home two little-acknowledged facts: First, Robin Williams is a really good, competent actor when he shuts up, which is never. And this is too bad because, second, Robin Williams isn’t actually all that funny. He is the Billy Joel of comedy, accessibly catchy in the initial moment, but with the shelf life of yogurt” (p. 199). PHEW!

“I take myself to see Fight Club, which, while featuring an awfully good performance by the four-inch band of flesh across Brad Pitt’s stomach just above his pubic hair, does little to lift my spirits” (p. 83).

One last quip: a pain-stakingly relatable anecdote relaying a conversation Rakoff endured:
“With little to talk about, the subject turned to movies, as it does. Amadeus had just come out in the States, and I asked him how it was. ‘Well, if you like Bach, you’ll love it,’ he told me” (p. 134).

A series of essays reflecting on times when the author felt like a fraud.

Maybe 3.5? Some of the essays I didn't find funny or thought were maybe too dark or didn't hold my interest. The essays I enjoyed were: In New England Everyone Calls You Dave; Including One Called Hell; Lather, Rinse, Repeat; Hidden People; I'll Take the Low Road; We Call it Australia; Tokyo Story.

i enjoyed listening to this. i liked David Rakoff's contributions to This American Life, as "the other David; the Canadian David". in so many ways, Davids Rakoff and Sedaris are forever intertwined in my mind.

Witty, humorous, and insightful essays. What's not to like?

"What remains of your past if you didn't allow yourself to feel it when it happened?" This is one of several particularly haunting passages from the final essay in this, David Rakoff's first collection. At the time of his passing, I mistakenly thought I'd read all of his books, but it turned out I actually hadn't read the first. It was a bittersweet delight to be able to immerse myself in these impeccably written, exquisitely funny stories, having wrongly thought I'd already exhausted his catalog. My reading began and ended with little coincidences; I picked it up moments after finishing a Joni Mitchell bio, and Rakoff quotes a line from her song "Cactus Tree" that figured prominently in her bio almost immediately. Then, moments after I finished the book, the Wagner quote he references in the last essay (in which he poignantly writes about his experiences with cancer, at that point hoping it was behind him) was repeated on a TV show I was watching. Just weird little moments of happenstance. Reading Rakoff has always helped me to write and even think more clearly. I will miss his voice very much.

This book had been on my to-read list since 2008, when David Sedaris recommended it at one of his events. I added it and then promptly forgot about it, figuring that I was getting my David Rakoff fix on This American Life and whenever I listen to America: The Book: The Audiobook (he read the part of Thomas Jefferson and was absolutely hysterical). It had been a while since I'd read an essay collection, and I'd been missing Rakoff since his untimely death in 2012, so in trying to decide what to read this year, Fraud got the nod.

It's David Rakoff to a tee, to the point that I was basically reading the book with his narration bouncing around in my head. It also made me sad that there is a finite amount of his writing left to read. Rakoff's voice is just so distinctive; Witty and self-deprecating, but with an underlying melancholy that gives his writing weight.

Essay highlights include his time impersonating Freud in the windows of Barney's department store during Christmas (also heard on This American Life), a three days at a Tibetan Buddhist retreat with Steven Seagal, and a survival course.

If you find that you've plowed your way through all of David Sedaris' books and are looking for something new but similar, give this David a try.

I liked this book more than HALF EMPTY, the prize winner by Rakoff. With the exception of his essay on his travels in Japan, I found them entertaining and provocative. He finishes with the best, as he contemplates immortality via donated sperm, looking cancer in the eye. I finished the book while visiting my sister and her husband; cancer is staring at him but neither seem to be ready to return the stare. One does not read in a vacuum.

Four stars

As a first book, promising but uneven with a time capsule feeling. Often Rakoff approaches subjects with bias or a chip on his shoulder but is wise enough to puncture his own preconceptions and pomposity. Often hilarity ensues. Sometimes it doesn't and I found my mind drifting.

Christmas Freud is a classic.

I really wanted to like this book. Honestly, I really did. I love Rakoff's work on NPR's This American Llife, so I was really surprised as to how unlikeable this book was. At this point, the author had as of yet to cement his persona as a loveable curmudgeon, and instead comes off as cranky and self righteous. He also seems to be pre-occupied with the task of impressing the audience with his vast vocabulary, instead of drawing the reader into his work. Long story short, the subtext of this book is that the author is smarter and more cultured than you are. Skip this one and read his later works instead.

Nonfiction ain’t my suit, and the density of these sentences made me take breaks every so often, but the writing here is really brilliant. I think CNF has gotten more pointed since this collection was published, more polished, less meandering; but I get the feeling that Rakoff had a lot to do with how essays are published now.

This book was pretty good, but only kinda funny. There were some queeny one-liner gems ("oh, for a tiny lace smellie!") but on the whole i much preferred his second book, which had a much higher rate of laugh-out-loud funny. I did really, really like the last essay, "I Used to Bank Here, but That Was Long, Long Ago," about his recovery from cancer as a younger man, couched in a quest to locate a long-lost sperm sample from before the chemo left him sterile. It was a perfect balance of funny and serious. Overall, a solid three stars.