Cave 17.

I'm Perfect, You're Doomed

Kyria Abrahams’ memoir I’m Perfect, You’re Doomed: Tales from a Jehovah’s Witness Upbringing deals with domestic violence, adultery, alcoholism, cutting, and religious oppression. It’s also the funniest book I’ve read in a long time.

That humor carries the first half of the book, which reads almost like a litany of Jehovah’s Witness ridiculousness. Abrahams works as a stand-up comic, and it’s easy to think that much of this has been adapted from (or could be easily adapted to) her routine. The narrative voice works well here — the adult Abrahams knows enough to deliver the stories wryly, but she maintains the childhood goggles of innocence.

While Abrahams’ comments on her strict upbringing are often hilarious, they also resist any attempt at a deeper look at her JH experiences. It may be a side note to the central story (one of an erratic and messy attempt at self-liberation), but Abrahams bypasses deeper thoughts on the why questions about JH worldviews. When she acknowledges that the Snorks were safe while the Smurfs were evil, she misses an opportunity to dig into the culture.

The book’s about digging out of that culture, so maybe it’s not a fair criticism; we shouldn’t fault a memoir for not being an exposé or a religious treatise. Even so, I get the feeling that the steady roll of humor here keeps us from an even more fascinating look at life in this culture.

There’s a fairly sudden shift midway through the book. The narrative tone doesn’t change, but we radically move from the tale of naive youth to one of an almost nightmarish adolescence. It’s jarring, and perhaps it should be; as a reflection on a proscribed childhood’s role in emotional dysfunction and adult trauma, it’s an effective moment of form meeting function.

From that point, the book loses the feel of a stand-up routine (Abrahams is still funny, but there’s an edge to things now that makes some of the humor feel either forced or perfunctory) but catches the speed of a well-told story. Her early adulthood is full of bizarre behavior and unlikely twists (some of which simply reveal our innate ability to repeat our errors).

Abrahams remains forthcoming throughout the book, and her avoidance of self-analysis is both a positive and negative. While she avoids over-dramatizing her experiences, she sometimes shies away too much from the emotional content. In a book where none of the what is held back, it’s surprising that — as with the JH culture in the first half of the book– there’s a lack of digging.

Ultimately, though, it’s still a rewarding read. Abrahams’ steady look at a troubling life provides more than just a voyeuristic pleasure. It’s a revelation (so to speak) on a particular culture and particular strictures that proves useful in more general terms.