hc.newton

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s I See You’ve Called in Dead About?

One night after a disastrous blind date (oh, and the word disastrous seems inadequate), obituary writer Bud Stanley gets drunk and accidentally publishes his own obituary. This earns him a suspension (once you get to the part where it’s revealed why he can’t be fired, you’ll roll).

During this suspension, he’s inspired to attend the funerals of strangers. He drags his close friend with him to these, and the two of them gain some new perspectives, new insights, etc.

I should add—before the drunken mistake, during the date itself, is when I decided I liked Bud and couldn’t wait to spend seven hours and change with him.

It’s, of course, after he published the greatly exaggerated reports of his own death that Bud finally has the opportunity to learn how to live. Will he take advantage of it?

Is He Maybe Too Perfect?

I’m not talking about Bud here. No one is going to spend more than a half a paragraph before they start finding flaws with him (love the guy…but man, is he a work in progress). But his landlord/friend, Tim, just might be too perfect.

He’s kind. He’s generous. He’s wise. He’s…well, really, you’re going to have to look long and hard for a problem with the character. And that, of course, is hard to swallow for a primary character in a work of fiction. As in life, so in fiction, pobody’s nerfect.

But…and here’s the thing that applies to a lot of Mary/Marty Sues (and I don’t think Tim is one, but he might be their first cousin)—he’s so fun that you get over it. He works as Bud’s Jiminy Cricket as well as the guy he can joke around with. It’s likely that Bud just doesn’t give us a lot of Tim’s flaws in his narration, because he doesn’t see them.

Friendship

Which leads us to one thing (there are others, but this dominates the novel) that Bud seems to be pretty good at, friendship. Sure, frequently being a selfish jackwagon, he’s not great at being a friend—but the bonds he’s made are strong enough that they can take it.

There’s Tim, Bud’s office-mate (a strange friendship, but one that’s deeper than one might think), the friendship between Bud and his editor/boss, and then a sweet friendship with a lonely and eccentric little boy* who lives nearby. Bud may not have figured out how to successfully adult, but he’s assembled a great group of friends to help him navigate through it.

I’ve read/listened to a lot of people (in fiction/non-fiction) talk about how close male friendship has really taken a hit in the current culture—it’s not emphasized, it’s not modeled, and almost never discussed after a certain age. Take or leave that argument, it’s rare enough to see a decent portrayal. Bud has four of them—of various strengths and circumstances. But all are wonderful to watch.

* That kid (his name escapes me, and that bothers me) deserves a book of his own. I need someone like Wesley King, Victoria Willimason, or R.J. Palacio to buy the rights.

What did I think about the narration?

Well, there were a couple of location names that I wondered if Hopkins was pronouncing correctly (he probably was). But beyond that, he nailed the work. He got the humor, he got the heart, he got the…strange mental place that Bud spent most of the book in.

I don’t believe I’ve heard him in action before, but I’d like to.

So, what did I think about I See You’ve Called in Dead?

I assumed this would be a fun read from the premise. I wasn’t prepared for something that would make me care so much.

I did think the humor around the millennial HR employee felt overplayed, and that Kenney should’ve dropped it (or skipped it entirely). There might have been one or two other jokes that he could’ve skipped—but on the whole? Some of the best comedy I’ve encountered this year—and some of the dumbest, too. Bud, Tim, and Tuan (his office-mate) don’t seem to think there’s a joke to dumb to make. I don’t disagree, but I figure I should warn you. They also aren’t afraid of being awfully clever in their jokes as well.

There’s an extended bit in a Greek funeral that Tim and Bud attend, for example, that will make you roll your eyes—and then you’ll end up really loving as it continues.

I haven’t talked about the strange friendship/romance at all between Bud and the woman who starts him attending the funerals of strangers. It’s the kind of quirky thing that filmmakers used to give Zach Braff, Michael Cera, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and the like. But it rarely feels forced, and she’s definitely not manic. I don’t think her storyline is nearly as well-done as the others, but it’s satisfying enough that I’m not going to complain.

And of course—we need to talk about death and life. Bud and his circle spend a lot of time witnessing death and grief—and how it looks for various people. And from that, they all take different lessons about death and what can—and should—come before. Sometimes it feels a little heavy-handed, or rather, it feels like it’s going to be—you can feel the “special episode” atmosphere building. But it typically is delivered subtly and almost seamlessly. Kenney does it the right way.

This is a funny, wise, and heartfelt book—affirming, challenging, and downright entertaining. What’s not to like?