Aewuhgdkjhgalgakdshgj (Autobiography of a One Year Old - Rohan Candappa)

Member Name: Sue Ellen

Product:	Autobiography of a One Year Old - Rohan Candappa
Date:	10/02/01 (150 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Hilarious, funny, amusing, comical, humorous, droll, entertaining, jocular, clever, witty, delightful, enchanting

Disadvantages: None, except that my Thesaurus is making a stand.

You want funny? I’ll give you funny. You want original? I’ll give you original. You want articulate, intelligent and thought-provoking? Jeez, now you’re starting to get on my nerves, but okay, okay, I’ll give you all those things and more besides. Concealed inside the covers of this unlikely-looking book lies all that you wish for. Here, take it (humour me; I’m doing one of those virtual things) and discover for yourself the brilliance and intelligence contained within. And have a good old laugh to boot.

I didn’t buy this book. It was a present to me from my daughter on her first birthday. Now I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking that someone else got it for me on her behalf as a sweet, affectionate gesture from said person to me. Well, I think you’re probably right. I don’t know who that touchingly thoughtful person was - no one would claim responsibility and the writing had been cleverly camouflaged – but I’m no fool.

But my point is this: I would never have bought this book myself. If I’d come across it in a bookshop, the cover would have shouted out to me something like “What are you looking at? I’m a pre-school Adrian Mole lookalike, striving to be original yet really just a rehashed version of a tired old biographical or, even worse, diary format! Move on, nothing to see here!” So, I secretly didn’t hold out much hope for this being a terribly memorable read. (By the way, that book-calling-out-to-me thing stays between you and me, yeah?)

However, I was keen to display my quite genuine gratitude towards my mysterious benefactor, so I decided to start reading it straightaway. I had barely started the first chapter when, suddenly, without warning, I laughed out loud. Oops! Heads turned in my direction, frowns appeared on people’s faces, and I felt the cold fingers of mockery and derision pointing in the direction of the st
range laughing woman. At least I would have done if I’d have been in public. Luckily, I was all alone in my living room. But wouldn’t it have been just my luck if the CIA were watching me again? Smiling apologetically around the room at the places I thought most likely to be housing hidden cameras (knowing my luck it was probably only Jeremy Beadle anyway), I carried on reading, teeth gritted in my determination not to expose my mirth.

Well, from then on, it was a spiral - downwards for the CIA, and upwards for me and my sense of humour. I couldn’t stop laughing. And with no further ado, I shall try and convey to you the reasons why this book turned out to be one of the funniest things I’ve read in an immeasurably long time (with the exception of alkaliguru’s opinion on drumsticks, that is; beat that if you can!).

From cover to cover, the book makes the pretence of having been written by a one year old (I mean, it must be a pretence, right?). Let’s play the game, then. The author has dictated his, or indeed her (the sex of the author remains cleverly androgynous throughout) biography to one Rohan Candappa, whose (other) literary claims to fame include The Little Book of Stress and the Little Book of Wrong Shui. You must have seen them; they’re those tiny little books you see next to the checkout in bookshops. I didn’t think anyone actually ever bought those things; I thought they were there simply for people to browse through to pass the time while queuing. Anyway, the above-named titles are bestsellers, apparently (which just goes to show), and as they’re spoofs of some other tiny little books, you might, at this stage, start to get an inkling that this guy sounds a bit of a laugh.

Get on with it! Right-o. The author (the pretend one-year-old one) has mapped his/her life out in chapters representing a month in his/her life. (It’s a pain to type ‘his/her’ all the time
, but I resent calling a baby, even a pretend one, ‘it’. I know, for the sake of facility, I’m going to choose a sex and stick with it. I choose ‘he’. This has nothing to do with wanting to provoke the bloodthirsty politically-correct brigade, it’s just that when reading I imagined the child to be a boy). Each chapter is then broken up further into different headed sections, each one detailing the most significant parts of the author’s young yet turbulent life, from the age of twelve months through to his second birthday.

How to communicate to you the essential funniness of this book without repeating word for word each joke? The truth is, it’s impossible. The author (real or pretend? I’m confused now) has such a cleverly witty way with words that any attempt to summarise or rephrase would be humiliating to me and insulting to him. The best I can hope to do is to pick out a few of my favourite bits and hope you don’t mind the heavy-handed use of quotations.

The first month (Month XIII) begins with a heading entitled, “Parents. A Few Thoughts On The Thorny Subject Of”. The actual purpose of parents remains unclear to our author, yet he is able to define two categories in which to place them: Hairy and Smooth. I quote:

“Smooths tend to be full-time staff whereas Hairies are, at best, part-timers. Some people I’ve met claim their Hairies do equal if not more hours than their Smooths, but frankly I find that a little hard to believe. Smooths also tend to handle more of the refuelling functions and the nether region work.
Now, because I spend more of my time with Smooth, the appearance of Hairy, when it occurs, is a situation that can be exploited in many ways. Prime among these is the ruse of spending most of the day in dispute with Smooth, then being all smiles-and-cuddles when Hairy turns up. It’s a divide-and-rule ploy that never fails to produce
results.”

Any parents here? Any Smooths present who fail to recognise the accuracy of those words? Any Hairies here who dare suggest that the facts have been distorted? Straight from the horse’s mouth, my friends.

As the months go by, the author grows and matures, both physically and intellectually. Nursery rhymes are put in the spotlight and ruthlessly dissected in a bid to expose the shocking truth about them. Sorting shapes becomes a fight for a more egalitarian society. The identity of the mysterious ‘Stalker’ is revealed. Sandpit etiquette is explained. The difference between the symbolic representation and the reality of things is finally understood (almost). Parallels are drawn between Beckett, Mamet, Pinter and the author. And the outrageous injustice that is life hits home hard in a section called “Sharing. Resistance Is Futile But We All Must Resist”. Brilliant!

During Month XXII, in a section entitled “What The Hell To Do With The Little Blighters All Day’, the author comes to realise that Smooth and Hairy are, in fact, totally dependent on him for everything, and it is up to him to find constructive things for them to do throughout the day:

“What appears to be most fascinating for parents, and what they seem to get most excited about, are the things that aren’t toys. Such as glasses, and bottles of cleaning fluid, and cutlery (especially knives). Start playing with any of these and like a shot, the parents will be up, active and involved.”

By the time Christmas comes around, our author is approaching his second birthday, and his increased maturity is undeniable. In fact it’s frightening.

“Now, if I was of a real cynical bent, I could interpret the parents’ behaviour as a way of trying to get me to buy into and believe in society’s consumerist value system. But, to be honest, they’re not that clever. And,
I hope, I have a bit more depth about me than to fall for such a clumsy ploy. After all, presents are only things. And who wants to live in a society where things are accorded so much importance?”

Why is it so hilarious? Because it is all so true! The nail hasn’t just been struck on the head, it’s been pounded relentlessly and mercilessly until even its own mother wouldn’t recognise it (poor nail). Every detail of a baby’s behaviour at this age has been picked up on, from their obsession with remote controls to the looks of contempt they shoot you when you’re acting your silliest in a vain bid to entertain them.

That’s why to appreciate fully the genius of this book, you really need to be a parent (Hairy or Smooth) to a child aged between one and two years old, or else closely involved with raising one. Every incident in the book will be played out before you from day to day, necessitating no explanations or reminders. And not only is it a hilarious read in itself, it also adds an edge of amusement to even the most shall-we-say stressful incidents. I now find myself grinning inanely when my baby is embarking on a full-on bout of inconsolable screaming as I consider whether this cry would be classified as a Rising and Falling Wail or a Wail-Sob-Shriek-and-Holler. And try reading ‘Dinner And A Show. How To Get More Bang For Your Buck At Meal Times’ while keeping a straight face. You’ll see how impossible it is, and you’ll also feel twice as silly the next time you’re driven to singing songs to get your baby to finish her meal.

On top of this, cleverly concealed behind the humour lie some more serious messages about bringing up children (nothing too intense, don’t panic); for example: “…The hardest part of being totally responsible for your parents is being responsible enough to know that sometimes you have to let them take responsibility for themselve
s.”

The appeal factor for people who do not have children is doubtful, as the poignancy will be lost on you. No offence; I’m just saying. I really think you have to have the truth flung in your face every day, along with the “tepid gloop” that is breakfast, or at least have it fairly close to hand in the filing system of your memory. Not to mention that it would probably put you off having kids for life. Oooooh no, only joking about that one. I think one of the strongest messages in here is that all the frustration, exhaustion and worry involved in having children is a very, very small price to pay for the bucketfuls of love, laughter and pure joy they give us in return.

On that note, I take my leave. Read, laugh, enjoy, cry, admit I was right all along and you do still love me after all, and then let’s run away into the sunset together, holding hands and skipping like happy skippy people. Or better still, write me a comment and tell me all about yourself.

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