A 35-year-old man jokes about odd jobs. But a 65-year-old man deals with dying parents, troubled siblings and shopping for culottes in Japan. Inevitably, the humor gets a little darker in his 13th book, Happy-Go-Lucky (Little, Brown and Company), a collection of personal essays that will likely garner some of the best reviews of his career—thanks to the passing of time, as well as his deepening talent. The book’s breezy title wasn’t his first choice (a visit to a Scottish natural history museum inspired an early favorite: The Testicles of an Old Sparrow in Winter). However, a big-box retailer said they simply wouldn’t carry it. “But ‘testicles’ is just like ‘ovaries,’” Sedaris says, laughing. “It’s not a bad word.” Feeling amiable, he named the book after its best essay: “I’ll call it Happy-Go-Lucky, and then I’ll split the difference by having a really scary clown on the cover,” Sedaris says. “So many people tried to talk me out of that cover. The publisher said, ‘What about this? This is a nicer clown! What about not a clown? What about just some balloons?’ No. I already gave up testicles. I’m keeping my damn clown.” In the agreeably titled Happy-Go-Lucky, Sedaris offers up 18 stories, about everything from being mistaken for comic DaveChappelle to his father’s growing (and sometimes pleasant!) dementia to a remarkable piece called “A Better Place” about the inane comments people at funerals say to the bereaved. Here, we chat with the comic more about clowns, what he worries about at night (AlanBennett) and the books he’s reading now. Happy-Go-Lucky will prove cathartic to anyone grieving, if they can get past the clown. It’s an old photo of a clown and he’s got a poodle in his lap and a little girl standing next to him and I just like that they’re all looking in different directions. Whenever I see a clown, I just always think they look good. I just love clown clothes. Because they’re comfortable? Easy to wear? Not really. It’s not a comfort thing. I just think it’s the best. Those big baby-doll collars look great. And the pants that come up to your nipples look great and the long shoes look great. If I could wear clown makeup every day, I’d do it. It gets on everything, you know. If you touch your face and then your shirt, then it’s stained. But especially as you get older, I think clown makeup is really the way to go. Thank goodness you’ll be able to tour again to promote the book. It’s been a long time since you’ve been on the road. One thing every traveler really needs is a book. What are you reading right now? I just finished Buster Keaton: A Filmmaker’s Life by JamesCurtis. Oh, and the second I finished that Buster Keaton biography, I started to read that David Foster Wallace biography Every Love Story Is a Ghost Storybecause it’s the only biography I’m in. Have you always been drawn to biographies? When I was a kid, there was a series of biographies at my school about DavyCrockett and DanielBoone and people like that. I guess I loved reading about their lives before they came into being themselves. You would read about them doing chores and think, Gosh, they have no idea they’re going to turn out to be famous. So maybe that’s true of me! Maybe I’m vacuuming the living room and someday someone will say, “Little did young David know as he vacuumed the living room…” You often tout a book by others at your public readings. What will it be this tour? It’s No One Is Talking About Thisby PatriciaLockwood. She wrote [the memoir] Priestdaddy. I get up and I read out loud from it and try to get people to buy it. Her editor used to be my editor and he sent me the book and…wow, she’s just got to be a genius. Oh, and Less Is Lost by AndrewSeanGreer. It is so good! I absolutely love that book. You’ve published two collections of your diaries, most recently A Carnival Of Snackery. Do you have a favorite diarist? I worship Alan Bennett. There’s nobody who could ever take Alan Bennett’s place. Ever. His age is part of what makes him the graceful, charming, sort of steadfast literary figure that he is. I worry about him. I lay awake at night and worry about Alan Bennett. I was given [his collection of monologues] Talking Headsas a gift. In terms of something that was given to me that really kind of changed my life, that would be it. You have a home in England with your partner, set designer Hugh Hamrick. Have you ever met Alan Bennett? No, I’ve never met him. I’ve lived right off Kensington Church Street, and it used to be lined with antique shops. I’d go into a place, and they’d say, “Oh, you just missed Alan. He left five minutes ago.” Damnit. That’s where I’d like to meet him, in an antique shop.
