Calypso by David Sedaris
If there’s one thing we can count on in this topsy-turvy world, it’s that David Sedaris will make us laugh at the things that aren’t remotely funny—like mortality, sibling suicide, and gastrointestinal issues on book tours. Calypso, his 2018 collection, brings out the best (and darkest) in his signature blend of dry wit and unflinching honesty, and let me tell you, it’s deliciously sharp.
Calypso is a collection of 21 essays, all semi-autobiographical, and centers around Sedaris’s experiences with aging, family dynamics, and the absurdity of everyday life. From buying a beach house he proudly dubs the “Sea Section” for family reunions to obsessing over his Fitbit, Sedaris expertly lures readers into his orbit of razor-sharp observations. It’s laugh-out-loud funny—until you realize he’s talking about something truly tragic, like his sister’s suicide or his complicated relationship with his elderly father. But this, of course, is where Sedaris shines: blending the heartbreaking with the absurd in a way that makes you want to cry even as you’re howling with laughter.
Sedaris has perfected the art of the essay—his stories often start in one place and meander through tangents before seamlessly tying together in a way that feels both spontaneous and inevitable. His writing is conversational, yet precise, with moments of self-deprecating charm. Whether he’s reflecting on the inexorable march of time or feeding a benign tumor to a snapping turtle (yes, that happens), his prose is never bogged down by sentimentality. It’s an odd kind of magic that makes you chuckle and grimace at the same time.
The looming specter of death pervades Calypso, but Sedaris handles it with his characteristic irreverence. In the essay “Now We Are Five,” he contemplates his sister Tiffany’s suicide with a rawness that avoids melodrama, capturing the surreal experience of family grief. Aging, too, rears its head as Sedaris muses on his own body and the changes in his father, whose failing health and hoarding tendencies evoke a mix of frustration and empathy. Yet, amid these darker themes, there are moments of levity—like Sedaris’s endless war with his Fitbit or his attempt to reconnect with his father over jazz music. It’s a meditation on growing older, but with the kind of humor that only Sedaris can deliver.
Reading Calypso feels like sitting down with an old friend who’s unafraid to tell you the brutal, hilarious truth about life. Sedaris doesn’t shy away from the messiness of his family or his own neuroses, and it’s this vulnerability that makes his work resonate. He captures the uncomfortable balance between loving someone and being disappointed by them, all while making you cackle at his absurd interactions. It’s a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’s something ridiculous—and laugh-worthy—to be found.
The essays flow effortlessly from one to the next, despite jumping between topics like his bowel issues and the 2016 election. The structure may seem loose, but it’s carefully calibrated to build emotional resonance. The lighter essays about beach houses and snapping turtles help to soften the more poignant reflections on loss and regret. There’s a rhythm to Calypso that keeps you turning pages, even when the subject matter gets heavy.
If you’re already a Sedaris fan, Calypso is exactly what you’ve been waiting for—wry, sharp, and somehow both bleak and uproarious. Newcomers, especially those with a taste for dark humor, will find themselves drawn into Sedaris’s peculiar, endearing world. However, if you’re looking for lighthearted comedy without any emotional gut punches, this one might not be for you. Calypso is a rollercoaster of snickers and sobs, and it’s best suited for readers who appreciate the whiplash between the two.
In Calypso, Sedaris pulls off the rare feat of making existential dread deeply entertaining. It’s like sharing a cocktail with your most brutally honest (and funniest) friend, who insists on reminding you that life is fleeting, but at least we can laugh about it. This collection is a masterclass in finding humor in the inevitable, and I’d recommend it to anyone looking to laugh their way through the tragedy of being human.
