Books like You're Never Weird on the Internet (Almost)

Of course, I have to recommend Davis’s book; we have similar titles! But in all seriousness, Davis takes a much different approach to the “gamer memoir” by focusing more on the games themselves. He reminisces about his favorite childhood games and/or games that were culturally important and does a great job highlighting what made them work (or not work) without letting modern-day feelings get in the way. Occasionally, Davis will tie the game into some real-world lesson he learned. It’s that aspect that I appreciate the most. I also try to reflect on certain games as being more than just “something fun at the time.”

This one’s an intentionally short read, fast-forwarding through Leith’s life at breakneck speed, only stopping to check in every few years to see what game he was into then. The whole thing feels like a strange fever dream or stream of consciousness, particularly in the first few chapters when his childhood memories are probably as fuzzy as the TV he played Planetoid on. Still, it’s a fascinating look at how certain games stick with you over the years. I have my own collection of games that don’t necessarily reflect my favorites of all time but certainly define key moments in my life.

David Sudnow’s Breakout: Pilgrim in the Microworld is perhaps the earliest account of a person’s obsession with a video game.

Sudnow’s diary-like approach to his relationship with the 1976 arcade game Breakout is captivating. It reads like improv jazz (which isn’t surprising considering Sudnow himself was an accomplished jazz pianist).

For example, here’s Sudnow describing the moments before starting the final phase of his longest game so far: “I feel the attempted seduction of the long lobbing interim, a calm before the storm, the action so laid back that I’m consciously elaborating a rhythm to be ready, set, go for a slam.”

Sudnow shows us that what might seem like simple bleeps and bloops to most people can instead be a life-affirming awakening to others. And how can something so powerful not warrant respect?

Tell your non-gaming friends: video games are poetry!

Where David Sudnow’s Breakout: Pilgrim in the Microworld focused on the flamboyant poetry of gaming, Michael W. Clune’s Gamelife opts for minimalism.

Clune himself describes the book as a memoir about computer games, which is true, and that description alone warrants inclusion in my list. Why? Any topic that can be a lens through which to reflect on one’s own life is noteworthy.

Clune isn’t a game developer recounting a life spent developing games. Clune isn’t a games industry executive doling out business advice. Clune is a gamer with a childhood he’s able to better understand when filtered through video games.

Tell your non-gaming friends: video games are therapy!

To read about the life of Diahann Carroll, a true diva, sets the record straight on her beauty and humanity. Her many marriages, a tribute to her daddy issues, and her support of civil rights show the true sides of a diva. She was political, she was insecure, she failed, and she succeeded. That is a life well lived. Diahann as a mother, by her own account, had a mixed track record. But, she clearly was a good enough mother and grandmother. 

With a codependent mother relationship that feeds into various forms of abuse (CW: eating disorders being one of them) and Hollywood as the backdrop for this coming-of-age story, this is an important, unforgettable memoir.

It’s a gift to be so darkly funny and honest as a nonfiction writer, particularly when your own deep vulnerability is in service of something larger. Written in short numbered passages that span McCurdy’s life from early childhood into adulthood, this true story is a perfect rollercoaster.

Both laugh-out-loud funny and deliriously sad, there’s never a moment you won’t feel held by this book and this writer.

Have you seen Nanette? If not, go watch it right now. I’ll wait.

Okay. Now that you’ve seen Gadsby’s Netflix special, you either get it or you don’t (and you either love Gadsby or you don’t). Gadsby, who grew up queer in a small, intolerant community, and who was later diagnosed with ADHD and ASD, recounts some of her formative experiences in order to construct a portrait of an artist in the 21st century.

Ten Steps to Nanette is at turns painful, hilarious, depressing, and inspiring. And: there are footnotes! (I used footnotes too in one of my novels and I do believe the footnote is a good and loyal friend to the writer with ADHD). 

Olivia Dade is the queen of romcoms with twists, and this may be her best work, IMO! Marcus is so sexy and such a golden retriever MMC, and I loved April just as much. This is a perfect example of two main characters who are both great but somehow even better together.

And Olivia Dade is truly hilarious–I especially loved the interlude chapters with the awful scripts Marcus had encountered over the years. This is one of the easiest romances for me to recommend to people because there’s something for everybody!

Woody made fun of movie novelizations in Manhattan, but they have a special charm, especially when written by the director.* Tarantino’s gripping novel captures the changing of the guard in Hollywood ’69 as only a native son could, with special attention paid to Manson’s floppo music career.

The book also features some intense scenes that aren’t in the flick. For instance, in one chapter, Manson Family acolyte “Pussycat” creepy crawls into an elderly couple’s home at midnight and strips naked in their bedroom while they sleep and then…yeah, well, try not turning the pages, I dare ya. 

*(Another fine example is The Last Days of Disco, With Cocktails at Petrossian Afterward by Whit Stillman.)

Nick Hornby is one of my favorite writers, and About a Boy is one of my favorite books of all time.

I love how his prose is pared down but so profound; every sentence, however simple, carries weight, and his characterization is wonderfully human. In this book, Hornby champions mainstream entertainment, something I’m passionate about, as I can’t stand cultural snobbishness.

It’s an homage to a golden age of light entertainment, and, like television comedy, this is a book that "makes us all part of something."