The World’s Largest Man
It’s impossible to laugh and be defensive at the same time. Laughter is, among so many things, a literal letting down of the guard.
Few people exhibit this concept better than Harrison Scott Key. The sheer hilarity with which he presents Southern culture is made even better by its alarming accuracy. But what makes the book so much better is that the mockery comes out of a place of love. Whether he means to or not, Key never wanders into spite. Sure, he makes fun of the many many oddities surrounding his upbringing, and sure, he dismisses a lot of them, but the sense of familial connection to all of it actually draws the reader into the culture.
It’s hard to describe the concept of making fun of something without ridiculing it, but that’s what this book does. It says, “Hey, the rate at which we kill innocent animals in the South is staggering, but also, this place is full of kind and largely misunderstood people.” The holding of those two ideas in concert with one another is what makes this book fun to read.
There’s a common caricature of the South in the culture at large. Rather than refute that, Key explains how it’s even worse than you think. Yet, at the same time, he makes you want to be a part of it (to a certain extent). Maybe it’s the poignancy with which he describes the relationship between a boy and his father and then later the relationship between a man and his father. Or maybe it’s just how outlandish living in Mississipi really sounds. Either way, I put this book down and felt strangely grateful for the sheer bizarreness of the American South.
When done right, comedy invites others into a shared experience. And once everyone stands on the common ground comedy creates, the door for conversation opens. Laughter creates a space of vulnerability. Comedy facilitates honest conversation because once laughter allows us to drop our guard, we can talk freely about anything.
True comedy does not point and laugh—it beckons you to come closer and share in the fun. That’s what this book does.
Favorite Quote
His greatest lesson was the one he never said out loud, the thing a father should do, which is this: Be there. Always be there. And never stop being there, until you can’t be there anymore.
“And what kind of doctor are you?” “I’m an English teacher.” “What kind, you say?” “I treat people who are having trouble with their colons.” “Oh.” “And semicolons.” “Oh! I see!” they’d say, more confused, looking around for assistance. My wife would intervene. “He’s not the kind of doctor who helps people,” she would say.