You have to like someone who subtitles their book a “self-mythologizing memoir.” Or maybe you don’t, but I do. Especially if it’s Parker Posey. She’d probably have a hoot talking with me and Dolly and all my other imaginary friends.
Such a memoir is probably not for everyone, because it really is like sitting next to someone chatty on an airplane. Someone who launches into slightly snarky stories about family members and celebrities. Someone who makes their own mistakes part of the whole ridiculous parade. Someone you tell your friend picking you up from the airport about and then fondly recall several years later when you’re trapped in an airport with a toddler and your ex-boyfriend’s new wife and a three-hour delay. Well, something like that anyway.
When I mull it over at length (and I have), imaginary Parker has been there for any number of important life moments – wandering around New York, cackling through Party Girl, in the hospital after my son’s birth (Best in Show), musicals of all kinds (Waiting for Guffman).
It’s really not for everyone, but I loved it, the whole crazy, disjointed flow, the break from a turbulent world with a little drama thrown in. Maybe a lot of drama. But also excellent yoga tips, a few recipes, and a perimenopausal puppet troupe.
You’re on an Airplane by Parker Posey