It’s evident there’s a certain expectation when one sees award-winning author, playwright and humorist David Sedaris’ name on a book. Readers associate his name with the hysterical observations of a hopelessly obsessive, painfully endearing neurotic. In the context of Western literature as a whole, David’s work could be filed under the equivalent of comfort food. People are drawn to his work because he consistently delivers the goods.

But Sedaris’ latest collection of stories, entitled Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary, was eviscerated by many. Maybe hearing him it read aloud Nov. 12 at the Auditorium Theatre will change the perception of the fans and critics who tore the book apart.

With Squirrel, Sedaris took his wry storytelling skills to the animal kingdom, a move that perplexed many in the literary world. But why should it not make sense that someone of his wit treat a preexisting template like anthropomorphism as a literary device? It’s a format that’s proven to be effective, particularly because every new generation develops its own unique social transgressions for which animals can serve as the perfect allegory. However, if any of his works could be said to be starkly more effective when heard rather than read, this is it.

A key difference in this collection is the lack of David in the stories. His humor and understanding of the human condition are applied here, but rather than focusing inward and meditating or musing on his own experiences, he takes aim at the ugliest characteristics of modern human behavior.

The satire and hilarity may not be as potent as in Me Talk Pretty One Day or Holidays on Ice, but Squirrel does a first-rate job in serving as an ice bath for those of us who flare in frustration at the inanity of the basket-case exotic pet owner or the xenophobic arrogance of the elitist yuppie globetrotter. Although the allegations inherent in each of the stories’ villains are scientifically and sociologically immeasurable and unprovable, they are utterly relatable. The genius in this instance is the use of animals as symbols, thus absolving Sedaris from simply “hating on” this or that type of person. It also worked for Aesop. It’s difficult to take vilification personally when the antagonist is an animal.

While most critics and fans can’t resist the temptation to compare — perhaps with good reason, given the under-population of authors in such a niche category — Aesop never touched on the finer points of ass kissing vs. ass licking. And nowhere in Animal Farm did Orwell allude to the reprehensibility of bigoted parents who sabotage their child’s interracial relationship.

The written iteration of these stories will not win literary awards, nor will it win him many new fans. His departure from the memoir format hasn’t done him any favors, and this collection looks marginally better next to Aesop or A.A. Milne than it does any of his own previous works. To describe Squirrel as The Berenstain Bears for adults is much more appropriate than to situate it as the latest in Sedaris’ lineage of best sellers. But to lambast this book for not living up to a certain familiar standard almost outs the critic as a dog that resents its owner for buying an unfamiliar brand of premium dog treats.

Though an artist should never be excused for producing mediocre work — this one certainly isn’t — it would’ve suited David and his followers much better if the book was marketed as a transcript of stories rather than a collection. Fortunately on Saturday, those stories can be experienced in their most desirable and rewarding format. And when you hear the one about the owl convincing a gerbil to remove singing leeches from the rectum of a hippopotamus, you’ll laugh all the way to the merch area to buy the book.