First, there was the book.
Then there was the narration by BAMF Samuel L. Jackson.
Then there was the backlash.
And then there was Twitter, and then the bloggers got here, and... yeah.
Welcome to 2011.
A new book called Go the F*ck to Sleep looks like it was made for children, but it's really a sleepless parent's tongue-in-cheek paean to the frustrations of bedtime. It's even better when read by Samuel L. Jackson, because even the ingredients of Wheetabix would be entertaining if read by Samuel L. Jackson.
Then the article in Slate says:
Go the F**k to Sleep exposes yuppie parents' sexlessness, self-pity, and repressed rage.
And then bloggers are saying that the article is all about how the dad is upset because the mom isn't sexy enough. And how the book wouldn't be so successful if it were written by a woman. And that it's not mom's fault that she has to work and she doesn't have time to diet and co-sleeping is exhausting and she doesn't look like Penelope Cruz and the dad should just shut up and go play Halo because he's more Seth Rogan than Daniel Craig anyway so WHATEVER. GAH.
Know what I think?
It's a f*cking book, not a statement of my generation.
The art is pretty, the writing is meh, and yeah, I feel like that when my kids won't go to sleep. Not because of a lack of sexiness on my part. Hell to the no. But because I'm a selfish human being who wants some time to myself, and kids take forever to go unconscious.
I think it's a great buy for new parents, along with a humorous, boob-shaped coffee mug from Spencer Gifts. It's not like anyone's going to read it to their kids. Or even read it twice.
It's a one-hit wonder.
And I'm sure there will be a spate of knock-offs soon, such as Eat Your F*cking Peas and F*ck It, I'm Not Playing Go Fish Again and Who the F*ck Keeps Buying All These Polly Pockets, Because It's Sure as Hell Not Me.
It's a book written by one person, not a parenting manifesto. It's a joke, not an accusation. If it makes you feel defensive and frustrated, maybe it's not the book that's the problem.
And I'm not wasting my oh-so-rare spare time in raging against a machine that isn't there.
After all, my son finally fell asleep for his nap, and I've got shit to do.