“The Year of Yes” by Shonda Rhimes a confusing book which starts with a confusing title. It is neither a convincing self-help book nor a convicting memoir, it actually describes a period longer than a year, and the author spends a full chapter celebrating the importance of saying “No”. So a reader might be justified in scratching his (or more likely her) head and wondering, what is this actually about? Particularly since Shonda Rhimes’ writing style in this particular work can at best be described as conversational, and at worst, meandering and boringly repetitive. Each chapter could – and probably should – have been summarized in a sentence or two. Rhimes may be a master of dialogue and suspense in screenplay-writing (I wouldn’t know, I’ve only gotten through one season of one of her shows), but her books reminds me of teenage-navel-gazing writing, with lots of asides to the reader (as if to check if they are still there), italics, and an annoying habit of closing chapters by simplifying sentences so that each sentence is a bit shorter and a bit more meaningless than the last. And while some people might have been enthralled by her sense of humor and jokes, there were very few moments when I actually laughed out loud, as a lot of the humor was at the same time self-deprecating and self-centered (is that the definition of humblebragging?), and a lot of it depending on juxtaposing the word “poop” or describing in detail many scenarios in which Shonda would make herself look bad. The first time may have been amusing, but the joke got old quickly, as did the metaphor (which she admits she borrowed from other TV writers) of laying the track for the TV story, which she adapts to pretty much every situation of her life (“the plotline was the train!”, “other people were the train!” then “I was the train!” etc. ad nauseam).
I trudged through the book during my few downtimes a while back when struck with covid-19, as I thought it might be an uplifting read and inspire me to change something in my life, but alas. For a memoir it did not set the stage enough in terms of describing life circumstances, showing her values and motivations, or indeed fleshing out any character in her life, even herself. For a self-help book, it was notoriously superficial and devoid of any real substance or actionable advice. For those of us wondering what kind of wisdom a celebrity TV writer can impart to our daily lives, don’t – she really can’t.
Where Is My Suitcase 