Vacationland: True Stories from Painful Beaches by John Hodgman

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


Vacationland is, by any metric you’d care to chose, the whitest book I have ever read. It oozes privilege. It was gifted to me at some point in the relatively recent past. My friend believed because I was from New England originally, and had briefly both lived and vacationed in Maine that I would appreciate the stories told within the pages.

I can say now that I’m unsure what my friend’s true intentions were. Did they really think I would enjoy it or were they trying to send me a cryptic message about my own behaviors? Was there ulterior motive? Perhaps not.

I recognized and related to a couple of stories here, or parts of them. I had successfully repressed the memories of going to the dump, but now they’ve returned. There was a significant portion of this work that simply made me cringe. Perhaps that was the authors plan all along? Having read all the essays in this book it wouldn’t shock me. I could imagine a meeting with an editor where plans were made to really put one over on everyone by publishing this. We will laugh maniacally whenever a royalty check is sent.

I have read this book. That is now a thing I can say and not be lying at all.



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