I believe that the adage "Don't judge a book by its cover" is not merely pretentious, but also just plain wrong. Book jackets, I would argue, are far from irrelevant. Books need covers. To state the obvious, covers are necessary to the structural integrity of the codex as a physical object (whoa there, and I just claimed to be repulsed by pretentiousness). But there's also something more there is an intrinsic emotional link between reader and book. It is the comfort that can be drawn from the concrete act of possessing a book, cover and all, which keeps people returning to libraries and bookstores in the age of modern technology. The Kindle, as one librarian explained to me vehemently this summer, is just not the same. "And," she raised her eyebrows and wagged her finger, "it never will be. Mark my words."
The jacket of "Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary" (2010), the newly released collection of short stories by David Sedaris based on Aesop's Fables, illustrates my covers-are-important thesis perfectly. The cover features a tableau which is simultaneously adorable and disturbing kind of like the stories in Sedaris' collection.
To explain the cover: in short, a squirrel and a chipmunk are on a date. The adorable, though quite mismatched, creatures squat on opposite sides of a small, candle-lit table, their hands clasped upon the classy, off-white tablecloth. To add to this classy factor, the critters are drinking bubble gum-pink wine from crystal goblets.
But despite the sickly sweet adorableness of this scene, there is an undeniable air of creepiness lurking behind the innocent veneer. Rodents dating? Really? And different species, too? Isn't that illegal?
The critters' beady eyes are locked in a trance-like gaze and their malevolent grins extend all the way up their faces. To the untrained eye, the scene may appear quaint, but open up the book and peruse the rest of the illustrations: a wounded bear sporting chains and a garish red tutu, a dying lab rat foaming at the mouth and a host of other equally twisted scenes await. This is not a Disney movie.
"Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk" contains 16 very short tales (and by very short, I really do mean very short about seven pages of large type on average) in which animals behave like humans, which is to say they behave altogether terribly.
An adulterous dog, a self-absorbed mother stork, a melodramatic bear, a sycophantic baboon these are just a few of the dozens of supremely flawed characters that populate Sedaris' "bestiary." Such is, however, the purpose of Sedaris' chosen literary form; according to the ever-erudite Dictionary.com, a bestiary is "a collection of moralized fables." These stories are meant to instruct, to illuminate, to satirize. Surely, the stories like all of Sedaris' immensely funny work delight, but more importantly they are moving. The tales put a mirror up to human behavior and show us our flaws, from the most minor foible to the gravest defect. We see ourselves in Sedaris' bestial creations, and while this sometimes results in humor, most often it conjurs disgust.
The presence of animals does not make Sedaris' stories cute not ever, not at all, not in any sense of the word. A mouse nurses a snake to adulthood and is rewarded with an inside view of a reptilian stomach. A sly crow plucks and devours a newly born lamb's "delicious" eyeballs. A cheery lab rat is infected with HIV. These fables do not end happily-ever-after.
In fact, the bestiary is actually darker than much of Sedaris' other work. First discovered in 1992, when NPR broadcasted an essay he wrote about working as a Macy's elf during Christmas time, Sedaris is best known for his laugh-out-loud memoirs and short stories, which have been published as story collections in addition to being broadcast frequently on radio programs such as "This American Life." Granted, Sedaris' work is often a bit twisted. "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim" (2009), for example, includes a story about the brief friendship between a 20-something-year-old Sedaris and a creepy, ill-cared-for child who lived in his apartment complex. The story was entertaining, but unsettling as well. Often, however, Sedaris' works are charming such as the story about Sedaris' teenage obsession with Shakespeare, featured on the "Drama Bug" episode of "This American Life," which was not only hilarious but also heartwarming.
Not so with "Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk." You will not get a warm and fuzzy feeling after finishing a story. Instead, you may feel slightly sick to your stomach. Or have a strong desire to complete community service. Or perhaps just to kick a squirrel. I do not think the bestiary is Sedaris' forte, and if you are unfamiliar with his writing, I suggest you start with "Corduroy and Denim" or "Naked" (1998) instead. But while "Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk" is not Sedaris' best work, it is good work nonetheless. If I had to sum up the essence of the stories in the collection, I'd describe them as twisted bedtime stories short and sweet, but hardly a guarantee of good dreams.
