A book review.
I'd been wanting to read this book ever since I was drawn to the striking cover photo while wandering past the "awards table" display at Barnes & Noble. I took a course in college called Philosophy of Love, which was not so much about love, as my uber-romatic self had hoped. I remember reading Plato and Nietzsche, so I wonder how much different it was from a regular philosophy class. However, my instructor loved Robert Mapplethorpe. I don't know how Robert Mapplethorpe fit into the Philosophy of Love, but I remember his art was discussed multiple times, and I was always confused at how it related to anything we'd previously been discussing. Thus, I've always associated Robert Mapplethorpe with my strange teacher who took months to read our short papers and didn't believe in deodorant/bathing as B.O. was always wafting off of him.
I needed a new association with Robert Mapplethorpe, and I knew Patti Smith would give it to me. I'm unfamiliar with her music, except for the couple of R.E.M. songs she's been featured in, but that will now change. This book is so beautiful, it's discouraging as a writer. I will never be that good. Ever. I listened to the audio book that she read herself, and I think hearing her own gravely voice reading her story only made it better. She's a great reader, has a wonderful sense of humor. Her story is raw, but never rough around the edges. It's the kind of book everyone would hope they could write after the loss of a close friend, even if it takes twenty years. And from a purely historical standpoint, it's also a fascinating look at the New York art and music scene in the 60s and 70s. ****
Rating System:
**** = Amazing, Fantastic, Life-Changing
*** = Excellent & Worth a Read
** = Not a Complete Waste of Time but I Probably Wouldn't Recommend It
* = Blech!
And I don't do that half-star nonsense.
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