You'll be Sorry When I'm Dead is a collection of short snippets of Hardy's life charting from her desire at age 11 to be a prostitute, to her love of alcohol, to stalking her idols, to her friend's battle with cancer and much more. Parts of some of the chapters have been previously published as part of Hardy's column/articles in The Age and Frankie. The chapters are largely unconnected and not in any kind of chronological order. Hardy also gives those she spends words on a chance to rebut or simply add to what she says of them.
I must confess that I have a bit of massive hero worship vibe when it comes to Marieke Hardy-I think that much as Hardy named her dog after Bob Ellis, if I owned a pet I might just be inclined to name it after her (if she keeps going on the trajectory she is currently charting)- and that said I'm at the same time mildly jealous of the fact that she has managed to be so awesome whilst being not that much older than me. I came a bit late to the Hardy appreciation party what with The Age being a Melbourne paper and with some of her time on triple j being part of a co-hosting gig with Robbie Buck and Lindsay "The Doctor" MacDougall- I've liked Robbie Buck's hosting skills since I was a teen but took years to warm to the Doctor beyond his being in Frenzal Rhomb and I initially found him mildly annoying as a radio host (put away your pitchforks, time has been a friend to my appreciation of his hosting and I quite like the Doctor nowadays- in fact I was listening to him this arvo). I gradually started to listen to Marieke Hardy on triple j a bit more and found her quite an interesting voice on the radio- partially because she seemed to find similar things amusing to me. Then I became mildly addicted to First Tuesday Book Club and though I didn't always agree with her, at least she wasn't trying to get people to read Atlas Shrugged, and I quite like her accessorising- I really wish I could pull off the massive flower in the hair look anywhere near as well as she does or in fact at all. And that is without mentioning the fact that she wrote Laid (one of my current favourite TV shows), that her twitter feed is one of the most entertaining out there and that she is a contributing editing for Frankie (one of only two magazines I ever buy- the other being Vanity Fair- and truly amazing at that). It was all I could do not to be anxiously lined up at a store waiting for the release of her memoirs but I realised that I'd just started a new job and that if I started it I may have not slept until I finished it, so I tried to hold off buying it for a while. I lasted two weeks before I caved and could no longer resist buying it.
I am one of those people who can find a film, TV show or, in particular, book hilarious without laughing out loud about it. People I know talk about how much they laughed reading a particular book and I respond with "yep that was funny". This book was not one of those. People say that they feel awkward sitting on buses or trains or anywhere public and reading about sex (personally I don't but I can understand why you might) , but on the embarrassment scale this palls in comparison to laughing your arse off in public whilst others go about their business calmly and sensibly. I'm going to make a giant claim and say funniest book I've ever read. I think this may be because Hardy's sense of humour from what I can ascertain is somewhat like mine- a bit bawdy, a bit left of centre and more than a bit unapologetically in your face. This definitely isn't the book for everyone. If you are right wing voting, stay away. If you are offended by humour involving cancer or alcohol, there are other books for you. Most of all, if you find people being open about their sex lives hard to deal with, back away fast- the book includes close encounters of the prostitute kind, swing happy fun, and that's just to name the acts that have a whole chapter devoted to them. You could always selectively just read the chapters on letter writing (this and the cancer chapter were the most hilarious in my opinion), stalking Young Talent Time stars, caravaning with her olds and love of her erstwhile football club (I still cannot believe that Hardy managed to get me not only to read but also to enjoy a chapter devoted to AFL, a sport which I consider second only to curling to be the one of the most ridiculous sports known to humanity). If you still find this appealing, even if you are not as Marieke Hardy enamoured as me, beyond funny it is profoundly well written and in some ways quite brave (a lot of exposure for those cave dwellers (and international guests) who are foolish enough not to know much of Hardy in past) and Hardy's idea of giving people the right of reply surprising works outstandingly.
Second bout of crazy almost stalker-isque gushing over. I'm enjoying The Book Thief very much but I'm going to desperately fight the urge to blubber incoherently about it as I have about Jonathan Franzen and Marieke Hardy's respective memoirs.
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