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This Is How We Dance: 52 Forays Into Flash Memoir
"We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known." Carson McCullers
We are made of stories. It’s how we communicate and remember, how we build a sense of self; we inhabit them. In the best and worst times of our lives we reach for narrative to make sense of the world, of our experiences. There are as many stories in this collection as there are weeks in a year, and years in the author’s life at publication; here you will find every emotional season, sometimes all in the space of one page.
In an interview for the Los Angeles Times, Kevin Barry said that one of the interesting things about Irish people is talk. “We talk a lot and say very little. It’s what’s going on under the surface of the talk that’s interesting.” This is How We Dance is a between the writer and the reader—those who picked up The Herald newspaper each week to read a familiar columnist talk about his episodes in fatherhood, his haphazard navigation of modern life, from which these pieces are gleaned; it’s also a dialogue between family and friends, both past and present—and at its most poignant it’s a conversation the author has with himself.
Humour subverts expectations; it’s a way of seducing the reader. Funny is the low hanging adjective to describe this book, because it is—these pieces give you a wry smile or a bark out loud laugh, as Diebold is expert with the wisecrack, the one-liner and the deadpan observation. He has an easy style; it’s like sitting in the bar with an old friend as he leans forward to tell you something about last summer, or what happened to him on the way to the station. But there is also depth and gravity, albeit by the side gate. Diebold invites you in with a joke, but often leaves you with his hallmark change of key, taking you from major to minor in the length of a thousand words.
Happiness is here in abundance, in the small and large the glitter on a card made by a child; the smell of homecooked burgers; the freedom of the road. There are those relatable moments in watching your child grow up, and letting them go; falling in love; finding a friend. But there are also things unique to the author, a family history so unusual and complex it is worthy of a documentary—yet you never feel on the outside. The stories that explore the stranger aspects of his background feel as natural and close as those set in the supermarket on the main street of Skerries, Dublin, where Diebold lives. This is his talent—making the particular universal, and the universal particular.
There is looking up, and looking forward in this volume—on father-son mountain climbs as a child, into cold January skies, the advice and admonitions of his father keen in the writer’s mind decades on, in Fellow Misanthropists. We stay on the mountain for a more ridiculous climb years later, as Diebold and his belly struggle to keep up with his long-time friends in the hilarious Climb Any Mountain.
There is looking down, and looking back too, as friends arrive, and friends disappear. Sometimes it’s via a chance meeting—maybe a couple of beers with a successful novelist, or a fleeting encounter with a musician, people and times now vanished; elsewhere it’s by paying homage to those treasured people who have left the show. There are castles in the air, as ambitions and jobs change as quickly as cities and circumstances. There are clouds too. Diebold describes a childhood honeyed with the nostalgia of quarry roaming and afternoon television in Kung Fu Kid, but also hints at a psychological burden that would take a novel to examine. Yet even the most difficult subjects are written with a light touch. It’s a fairground of memories, from rollercoasters to games of chance, to the slow circle of a Ferris wheel.
There is no misery to this memoir, despite it tackling grief—the thing with feathers—that settles in the author in the middle of his life, considered with subtlety in Nick Cave Nails It. Loss, like love, is given the same cadence, with crescendos and diminuendos, as is family life in all its mess and family, despite Diebold’s comical lamentations, is the one constant in the flux and flow of everything else.
The author is often characteristically flippant when dealing with painful questions, or sensitive periods in his life; at times you hanker for more of the straight man, for the writer who has left the mask of columnist and raconteur down for a while. Possibly the volume is at its most powerful on those rare occasions we glimpse the author’s face when the audience has left the room—evident in the concluding story, The Secrets We Squander.
Ultimately, Diebold wants to leave us laughing, not to give himself away—or at least not too much. Because in the end what is it, this beautiful, chaotic, epic of a life, if not, in the words of the incomparable Bill Hicks, just a a...
We are made of stories. It’s how we communicate and remember, how we build a sense of self; we inhabit them. In the best and worst times of our lives we reach for narrative to make sense of the world, of our experiences. There are as many stories in this collection as there are weeks in a year, and years in the author’s life at publication; here you will find every emotional season, sometimes all in the space of one page.
In an interview for the Los Angeles Times, Kevin Barry said that one of the interesting things about Irish people is talk. “We talk a lot and say very little. It’s what’s going on under the surface of the talk that’s interesting.” This is How We Dance is a between the writer and the reader—those who picked up The Herald newspaper each week to read a familiar columnist talk about his episodes in fatherhood, his haphazard navigation of modern life, from which these pieces are gleaned; it’s also a dialogue between family and friends, both past and present—and at its most poignant it’s a conversation the author has with himself.
Humour subverts expectations; it’s a way of seducing the reader. Funny is the low hanging adjective to describe this book, because it is—these pieces give you a wry smile or a bark out loud laugh, as Diebold is expert with the wisecrack, the one-liner and the deadpan observation. He has an easy style; it’s like sitting in the bar with an old friend as he leans forward to tell you something about last summer, or what happened to him on the way to the station. But there is also depth and gravity, albeit by the side gate. Diebold invites you in with a joke, but often leaves you with his hallmark change of key, taking you from major to minor in the length of a thousand words.
Happiness is here in abundance, in the small and large the glitter on a card made by a child; the smell of homecooked burgers; the freedom of the road. There are those relatable moments in watching your child grow up, and letting them go; falling in love; finding a friend. But there are also things unique to the author, a family history so unusual and complex it is worthy of a documentary—yet you never feel on the outside. The stories that explore the stranger aspects of his background feel as natural and close as those set in the supermarket on the main street of Skerries, Dublin, where Diebold lives. This is his talent—making the particular universal, and the universal particular.
There is looking up, and looking forward in this volume—on father-son mountain climbs as a child, into cold January skies, the advice and admonitions of his father keen in the writer’s mind decades on, in Fellow Misanthropists. We stay on the mountain for a more ridiculous climb years later, as Diebold and his belly struggle to keep up with his long-time friends in the hilarious Climb Any Mountain.
There is looking down, and looking back too, as friends arrive, and friends disappear. Sometimes it’s via a chance meeting—maybe a couple of beers with a successful novelist, or a fleeting encounter with a musician, people and times now vanished; elsewhere it’s by paying homage to those treasured people who have left the show. There are castles in the air, as ambitions and jobs change as quickly as cities and circumstances. There are clouds too. Diebold describes a childhood honeyed with the nostalgia of quarry roaming and afternoon television in Kung Fu Kid, but also hints at a psychological burden that would take a novel to examine. Yet even the most difficult subjects are written with a light touch. It’s a fairground of memories, from rollercoasters to games of chance, to the slow circle of a Ferris wheel.
There is no misery to this memoir, despite it tackling grief—the thing with feathers—that settles in the author in the middle of his life, considered with subtlety in Nick Cave Nails It. Loss, like love, is given the same cadence, with crescendos and diminuendos, as is family life in all its mess and family, despite Diebold’s comical lamentations, is the one constant in the flux and flow of everything else.
The author is often characteristically flippant when dealing with painful questions, or sensitive periods in his life; at times you hanker for more of the straight man, for the writer who has left the mask of columnist and raconteur down for a while. Possibly the volume is at its most powerful on those rare occasions we glimpse the author’s face when the audience has left the room—evident in the concluding story, The Secrets We Squander.
Ultimately, Diebold wants to leave us laughing, not to give himself away—or at least not too much. Because in the end what is it, this beautiful, chaotic, epic of a life, if not, in the words of the incomparable Bill Hicks, just a a...
143 pages, Kindle Edition
Published November 14, 2019
5 people are currently reading
29 people want to read
About the author
David Diebold
2 books6 followersA journalist with 22 years of experience, David Diebold has written for The Irish Independent, The Irish Daily Mail, Business Post and The Herald, where his long-running weekly column was nominated for a number of national awards. His writing also featured in Press Gang: Tales from the Glory Days of Irish Newspapers (New Island, 2015), and in Spontaneity magazine. David’s previous book This Is How We Dance was published in 2019 to rave reviews. David lives by the sea in north county Dublin with his wife, four mostly fully grown children, and up to six dogs at any one time.
For more information, please contact Sharon Plunkett or Mark Walsh, Plunkett PR at sharon@plunkettpr.com mark@plunkettpr.com / 01-2807873
For more information, please contact Sharon Plunkett or Mark Walsh, Plunkett PR at sharon@plunkettpr.com mark@plunkettpr.com / 01-2807873
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
January 29, 2020
Dave had an unusual upbringing in many ways, although it seemed "normal" to him. He writes beautifully about how the saga unfolded, creating an engaging memoir that holds you involved right till the end. Crossing the Atlantic from the USA to Ireland and back again, this is a book that will appeal to anyone who enjoys reading about the complexities of real life, and about human personalities and characters. It's a lovely observational read.
January 18, 2020
If this was a fiction novel would have been a great read, well written, engaging and clever, but the fact that it is all real makes it a unique book that will stay with you forever.. The author takes you in this amazing journey that is his life making you laugh, cry and realize that we don’t have to go far to find the extraordinary. I loved this book and I highly recommend it to anyone who love good books and getting lost in mesmerizing stories but also to those who love reality as it is, because this is a book that cover it all.
August 3, 2020
A book that made me feel.
So much of this book is commonplace, recognisable but with a sense of emotional profundity which I found very touching. 52 stories that make you ponder your own life, choices made, the passage of time, friends remembered and all the spaces filled by sadness and joy we fall through in between.
So much of this book is commonplace, recognisable but with a sense of emotional profundity which I found very touching. 52 stories that make you ponder your own life, choices made, the passage of time, friends remembered and all the spaces filled by sadness and joy we fall through in between.
May 24, 2020
Excellent
A really lovely tale of a complicated yet but fascinating life. A few sentences in I wasn't too sure about the format but before long it truly began to flow and I really enjoyed it
A really lovely tale of a complicated yet but fascinating life. A few sentences in I wasn't too sure about the format but before long it truly began to flow and I really enjoyed it
March 13, 2022
Great storytelling.... 52 snipets from David's extremely interesting and varied life. Funny and sad... fully of life, love and loss. Will probably bring back some memories for those of a similar age...did for me..
February 7, 2021
Wonderful memoirs of a life not yet fully lived.
This book turned me inside out at times, had me comparing similar stories in my own life.
I hope my children read this book someday and that they laugh when they compare Saturday night burgers in our house.
Well written Diebold, I look forward to reading part two of this book one day!
This book turned me inside out at times, had me comparing similar stories in my own life.
I hope my children read this book someday and that they laugh when they compare Saturday night burgers in our house.
Well written Diebold, I look forward to reading part two of this book one day!
March 14, 2021
I connected with so many of the real life stories here, remembering the food my mother would make, things I continue to cook for my own family; the long walks in the country with my own father; the hole in the soul left by the loss of a friend; even my own feelings about the death of Bourdain rang in the same key as Diebold's. A book I'll continue to treasure and revisit as time goes by. A special thing indeed.
August 6, 2021
David’s experiences and observations are fantastically relatable. Utterly hilarious. A heart warming read that’s inspired me to take life by the balls a bit more…
March 14, 2021
My favourite book of the year
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews