Please God Let It Be Herpes
Please God Let It Be Herpes
A Heartfelt Quest For Love and Companionship (Carlos Kotkin, NAL Trade/Penguin 2012, 304 pages)
A Smalldoggies book review by Reyna Kohl
First, a letter to the author:
Dear Carlos Kotkin,
I wonder if there is any way to convince you that changing the name of this, your first book, would do you (and the book) immeasurable good. That, or including a brown paper book cover with every purchase. Without a cover, it is a difficult out-and-about read. Think of those who use public transportation on a regular basis. What about coffee shop readers, or people who hold a book up to their face at the bar to seem smart (read: to attract the opposite sex – don't forget, I live in Portland). And if one should want to enjoy a few chapters on their lunch break? The vicious workplace rumors would begin flying the moment the big H-E-R-P-E-S on the front cover was spotted.
To be clear: it looks like this might be a book about coping with an STD; one that, anyone will glean if they read the whole title, is WORSE than herpes. Picking up “Please God Let It Be Herpes” at the bookstore, let alone plopping it down on the counter in front of the nerdy-cute clerk, would likely nip any flirtation in the bud. You, of all people, should understand this, Carlos. Think about it.
Sincerely,
Reyna
Contrary to what the title insinuates, Please God Let it be Herpes is NOT a book about coping with a venereal disease. It is not filled with stories of careless sexual debauchery and STD close-calls (though, to the author's credit, there is one such incident). Probably the most shocking thing that happens in this collection is a night described in which the author becomes afflicted with such a case of beer-goggles after two glasses of champagne, that he makes-out with a woman who seems to look like a “1930s screen goddess,” only to discover with the clarity of next-morning sobriety that she is actually “built like a refrigerator.”
And the most sexually deviant tale: the one about Marcia Nadel, a blow-up doll, indiscreetly obtained by Kotkin, at a place called the “Pleasure Chest,” to be the star of his college Film Class project, a porno co-starring an inflatable sheep named Alan Cartwright. The title is a freak flag, being waved by a mild-mannered accountant (I know, it's a stereotype) or a puppy. It is not the best representation of what is inside. I mean, Kotkin has never even had a cavity in his lifetime.
Written about in this book are the experiences of a mostly nice-guy (you know; the ones that always finish last), who, ever since he made the hormone-fueled transition from a normal child into a “horny zombie” around fifth grade, has been obsessed over finding love, and whose mother is his most enthusiastic matchmaker:
My mother couldn't understand why it was so difficult for me to meet someone. She was always ready to help, offering to host a singles party at my parents' house. 'You could invite all your friends; they could invite their friends. I'll make flan. Everyone can dance in the living room.'
Flan!
By way of a series of stories that are humorous, embarrassing, pathetic, and totally relate-able, we follow the romances and “no-mances” of Carlos Kotkin through his awkward pre-teens, the disappointing teenage years, and an uncomfortable adulthood. It's not that Kotkin is completely clueless when it comes to women, but instead that he seems to have incredibly bad luck, yet he is so driven in his search for companionship that he is more-than-willing to give almost anyone a chance. However, as sweet and willing as he is toward his dates outwardly, there were a few comments, whispered by Kotkin into the reader's ear, that caused me to consider the idea that some of the author's tough luck may actually have been an expression of karma.
When speaking of two women that he had met in Australia:
Neither of those were for me, especially not the one with the cankles. Gross, cankles were gross.
When his mother urged him to ask a lonely-looking girl to dance:
She wanted me to notice another girl at the table, a behemoth named Maria. My mother kept imploring me, kept telling me how kind it would be to dance with Maria-zilla.
Upon meeting a deaf girl in-person, who he originally found through a dating website:
Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, she sounded like a deaf person. That is, completely unintelligible.
Though not nearly as scandalous or horrifying as the title seemed to promise, and not without its flaws, I continued to look forward to each story like I might a letter from a friend (while hiding the cover with a recycled paper bag). Not one filled with shocking secrets, but with amusing anecdotes about the woes of being single and searching. We have all been there.
I guess it feels good to be able to laugh at someone else's life once in a while.
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Buy this book now: Please God Let It Be Herpes, by Carlos Kotkin.
Read more about Please God Let It Be Herpes on Goodreads.
Find out more about Carlos Kotkin on his site.