Just finished reading "The Pleasure of My Company" by author/actor/good-at-everything guy Steve Martin.
I have to admit, I didn't know what to expect. My husband picked it up at the library, and even though I hadn't read any of Martin's other stuff, I thought it might be good. (I had watched the movie version of "Shopgirl," which was pretty decent, though I'm more of a happy-ending fan, honestly, and I didn't think it qualified.)
Anyway, the day "Pleasure" was due back to the library, neither my husband or I had read it yet, and I couldn't decide whether I should renew. So I figured I'd pick it up, skim the first few pages, and decide from there.
Long story short? I could barely put it down, and I finished the whole thing (it's fairly short) in about a day.
I've read a few reviews of it, and most, honestly, describe it as cute but sort of trite. Either I'm much smarter or much dumber than the standard American book reviewer, because I didn't find it trite at all.
How can you find it trite when the main character, one Daniel Pecan Cambridge, narrates the small parts of his day-to-day life with an intelligence that's as humbling as Cambridge is neurotic?
Here's an example:
That's pretty much what got me hooked. Daniel's story and his change throughout the book from, basically, a compulsive man who can't leave his California apartment, to a loving (and loved) human being, is fun to watch, but it's also very telling about human nature and our tendency to push people away using some of the strangest reasons - just to keep them from getting to know us for who and what we are.
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