Dirt

By Mindy Lewis
Seal Press, $15.95, 295 pages

Books of random musing on a given subject can be charming, funny, and packed with interest; some even inform the reader with tips or helpful advice. This particular compilation harbors but a few of these admirable traits, and is, for the most part, a gaggle of barely veiled complaints about having to clean up after oneself, along with a hearty dose of depressing childhood memories.

Hopes that this volume contains time-tested wisdom and cleaning insights are bolstered by the witty forward but dispel rapidly after the first narrative. Most of the pieces follow a similar theme: as young folks, the narrators “escape” their parents’ properly cleaned home, dive headlong into the messy realm of creative Hippiedom, and revel in piles of unwashed clothes, oily windows, and left-out food. The introduction of children into their lives causes a reluctant return to mild cleaning, accompanied by a truckload of whining and much airing out of spousal dirty laundry. Homebodies nationwide keep house successfully, managing to continue the valiant, diurnal cleaning without having nervous breakdowns or needing medication. Besides one or two good, informative stories on the pitfalls and joys of keeping house, the book had the feel of a long, failed therapy session, leaving one with a desire to get up and vigorously mop floors to a satisfactory shine.

Reviewed by Meredith Greene