Competitive Non-Fiction

It’s absolutely impossible for me to be objective about Tina Fey. I look up to her in a way that would probably make my own mother a little bit jealous. I fell for Fey at the same time the rest of the world did – when she dressed up like Sarah Palin and rapped about Alaska. It’s because of Fey that I fell in love with Amy Poehler, and started to follow more female comedians. She introduced me to a world of funny, smart women and I am eternally grateful. Clearly, I was poised to love this book. Tina Fey, as always,  didn’t let me down.

In Bossypants, Fey draws a picture of her life by describing a series of meaningful, humbling and always funny events that shaped her life and career. It’s not the complete picture; Fey is clear that she’s uninterested in discussing particular events, and the book doesn’t in any way suffer from their absence. In some ways, she’s very revealing about her life, while in others she provides very little information.

The book was immensely entertaining, and you can hear Tina’s voice through every glib one-liner and every self-deprecating story. This autobiography doesn’t follow the typical format, and refreshingly, it never stoops to become an exercise in narcissism. She is, often hilariously, both the villain and the hero in her own stories. 

I am always a bit concerned that it takes a certain amount of narcissism to convince oneself that you’ve achieved enough to warrant a book or movie (I’m looking at you Justin Beiber). Fey manages to circumvent this by focusing on telling stories about her life and the people in it rather than her accomplishments. I get the feeling she was dragged into this kicking and screaming, and then when she finally agreed it was with both resignation and a determination to make it her own.

Well played Tina Fey. Well Played.