Dear Mr. You

Dear Mary Louise Parker:
I'm sorry for thinking, when I picked up your book, that it would be rubbish, that you had nothing to say, no ability to entertain, that your celebrity was sufficient to get you published, that an epistolary autobiography was a bad idea. I was wrong in all of these things. I won't pretend I got all of it but I certainly enjoyed the ride; you even made me cry.

I received a free copy of this book from the publisher so thank you to Simon & Schuster.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you liked this, you might like more there.
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I'm not sure what I expected from this, but this wasn't it. But whatever this was? It was a real treat to read.

I guess it's basically, Alanis Morissette's in book form. The book is a compilation of letters to a wide assortment of men in her life – or adjacent to it – some named, some nicknamed (“Blue”), some described (“Cab Driver”).

The style varies from letter to letter, a little bit, but on the whole the voice is consistent, it's the content and audience that drives the mood. Seemingly very honest and candid, this carries all sorts of situation – the doctor who saved her life, the uncle of the girl she adopted, her grandfather, her daughter's future significant other, a few former paramours, a few total strangers. The strongest material involves her immediate family – her father, her son, her daughter, especially her father.

Given Parker's acting ability and the personal nature of this material, if she does the audiobook for this, I think it'd be more effective than than the dead-tree version. But that's just a guess.

Sure, not every letter is gold – a few bored me. But the majority kept me reading, entertaining me, making me chuckle, giving the occasional “aww” moment, and even jerking a few tears. Anyway you slice it, this lady can write.