Finally to the topic! I found Shteyngart’s memoir “From the Diaries of Pussy-Cake” via The New Yorker (incidentally my home page, though I always manage to never read anything there!) It felt like a nice breeze on a hot day when I recognized the author’s name, then I was happily hooked from the very first paragraph:
I love Pamela. She is what I’ve been waiting for all my life. A chance to lower myself into complete abasement, a chance to beg for someone’s love over and over again, knowing I will never get it. After our first date, when I find out she has a boyfriend (or, as she explains, an ex-boyfriend who is not yet completely out of the picture), I sign off gallantly in an email, ‘I am at your disposal.’ Except what I’ve written is ‘I am your disposal.’
What made this read even more exciting was that right before I found the memoir, I was thinking of something similar. The cycles we put ourselves through though we know that it won’t lead anywhere, we hope that it would lead somewhere and this hope keeps us locked in unhappy little cells we’ve created for ourselves. Enough of my ramblings. You should read the memoir for yourself. If you’re yet to read a Shteyngart, consider yourself in for a treat! See it at the New Yorker.
Seems like something I would enjoy reading.
Thanks for sharing!