Scan barcode
danielellis91's review against another edition
3.0
A first-class Epicurean. Broadcasting his home life and personal experiences across page to stage and screen in an attempt to find something worthwhile. Bawdy, trashy, and delightfully formal about all of it. We would've been friends.
laread's review
4.0
With a long-term love for Tennessee, by way of equal parts Elia Kazan and reading, cracking open these memoirs opened up my memory lane and injected it with insight and added tenderness for the man behind such great works of art. Reading stories that shaped his life and reading them in such delightful style was pure enjoyment.
jlmb's review
3.0
Well, that was depressing. I started off enjoying it; I'm a sucker for celebrities that overshare in their memoirs (I'm looking at you, Shelley Winters and Gene Tierney!). I wasn't a fan of the stream of consciousness writing style but I figured, hey, it's Tennesse Williams, he must know what he's doing. However, as the book progressed, I realized that the stream of consciousness was not a rational decision about style and structure but rather all he could manage, given how much booze he drank & pills he popped.
Same with the oversharing sex and partying stories. At first, I enjoyed reading about them. I thought that his partying was to be expected after his sad, lonely childhood and early adulthood. A sort of stretching-your-wings-and-flying after years of repression. But again, as the book progressed, his stories became sadder and sadder. His inability to ever be alone led him to make many questionable decisions in his love life. He was a magnet for grifters and users. Tennessee was a handsome man, incredibly talented, witty, had a lot going for him, but for the most part instead of choosing an equal as his partner, he chose hustlers. He did have his long-term relationship with Frank Merlo, but the whole time Tennessee was being a jerk, pushing him away until Frank had had it. I sensed a lot of self-loathing in Tennessee. Like he didn't think he deserved to be happy.
The alcoholism and drug abuse also became much darker as the memoir progressed. I googled rehabs to see what would have been available to him in the 1960's. Hazelden, which is a great rehab, was operating then. His family & friends could have sent him there instead of that crazy mental hospital which didn't help at all. Tennessee didn't write much about his younger brother, the one who committed him, but I got the impression that they did not like each other. Perhaps the mental hospital was intended as a punishment rather than a way to help?
It really was shocking, what he was using. A real Valley of the Dolls. He was taking thorazine?!?! What on earth?! He popped seconals and nembutals like they were candy. He was constantly eating valium and a few other pills I had to google that were also barbiturates. I am amazed that it took him until 1983 to overdose. All washed down by booze, of course. Made me think of that Neely O'Hara line in Valley of the Dolls "They work faster" when she is called out about taking downers with alcohol. Maybe it was the introduction to Dr Feelgood in the 60's that kept Tennessee from ODing? All that speed counteracted the downers. It wasn't just Dr Feelgood who injected him; when Tennessee was traveling, he'd convince local doctors to give him shots of ritalin! Times sure were different back then.
The constant traveling also became depressing after a while. At first, it seemed very 'Jet Set' but then it dawned on me that Tennessee was pulling a geographic. That's a recovery term for changing your surroundings instead of changing yourself. It was like he was always trying to run away from himself.
This memoir would be a great original source for someone writing a biography of Tennessee. As a stand alone memoir though, it only gives brief glances of his life. It's overwhelmed with minutiae that doesn't help the reader get a larger sense of the writer. It's the sad ramblings of a drunk. I still gave it a (weak) 3 stars because it did help me understand where his plays are coming from. Also, even writing high, he still manages to write some beautiful passages. If only he had been able to write a memoir when sober - that would have been great. Sigh.
Same with the oversharing sex and partying stories. At first, I enjoyed reading about them. I thought that his partying was to be expected after his sad, lonely childhood and early adulthood. A sort of stretching-your-wings-and-flying after years of repression. But again, as the book progressed, his stories became sadder and sadder. His inability to ever be alone led him to make many questionable decisions in his love life. He was a magnet for grifters and users. Tennessee was a handsome man, incredibly talented, witty, had a lot going for him, but for the most part instead of choosing an equal as his partner, he chose hustlers. He did have his long-term relationship with Frank Merlo, but the whole time Tennessee was being a jerk, pushing him away until Frank had had it. I sensed a lot of self-loathing in Tennessee. Like he didn't think he deserved to be happy.
The alcoholism and drug abuse also became much darker as the memoir progressed. I googled rehabs to see what would have been available to him in the 1960's. Hazelden, which is a great rehab, was operating then. His family & friends could have sent him there instead of that crazy mental hospital which didn't help at all. Tennessee didn't write much about his younger brother, the one who committed him, but I got the impression that they did not like each other. Perhaps the mental hospital was intended as a punishment rather than a way to help?
It really was shocking, what he was using. A real Valley of the Dolls. He was taking thorazine?!?! What on earth?! He popped seconals and nembutals like they were candy. He was constantly eating valium and a few other pills I had to google that were also barbiturates. I am amazed that it took him until 1983 to overdose. All washed down by booze, of course. Made me think of that Neely O'Hara line in Valley of the Dolls "They work faster" when she is called out about taking downers with alcohol. Maybe it was the introduction to Dr Feelgood in the 60's that kept Tennessee from ODing? All that speed counteracted the downers. It wasn't just Dr Feelgood who injected him; when Tennessee was traveling, he'd convince local doctors to give him shots of ritalin! Times sure were different back then.
The constant traveling also became depressing after a while. At first, it seemed very 'Jet Set' but then it dawned on me that Tennessee was pulling a geographic. That's a recovery term for changing your surroundings instead of changing yourself. It was like he was always trying to run away from himself.
This memoir would be a great original source for someone writing a biography of Tennessee. As a stand alone memoir though, it only gives brief glances of his life. It's overwhelmed with minutiae that doesn't help the reader get a larger sense of the writer. It's the sad ramblings of a drunk. I still gave it a (weak) 3 stars because it did help me understand where his plays are coming from. Also, even writing high, he still manages to write some beautiful passages. If only he had been able to write a memoir when sober - that would have been great. Sigh.
tiixtai's review against another edition
4.0
I think I'm giving this four stars out of loyalty - it's hard to say. The book seemed to become more awkward the closer the memories got to the moment of writing, which is very understandable. Williams is both reassuringly human and frustratingly human. I don't think he wrote this for me. I think he wrote this for a contemporary audience thinking he was going to die soon and thinking he could get the last word in a hypothetical debate. Four stars for the anecdotes, for driving in cars and arranging parties to impress celebrities who never show up and holidaying in Italy, and three stars for the prattling on about plays and reviews and other people's opinions.
eriknoteric's review
2.0
Tennessee Williams was one of the most brilliant and creative writers of the 20th century but his complicated persona comes to the forefront in this rambling, unaware memoir.
At times a poignant reflection on coming of age gay in the 1930s South, Williams begins his memoir with an interesting narrative of his time before fame as he gallivanted and came into his sexual identity. These initial stories are insightful and tell the story of a gay man experiencing the freedoms that come with embracing cruising and sexual exploration. Unfortunately the second half of the book devolves into a meandering collection of stories overflowing with remorse for failing his lover of 14 years, Frankie, who Williams abandons as Frankie dies of cancer. Add to this stories of a self-destructive man who refuses to acknowledge his responsibility in his own downfall and the latter half of the memoir becomes almost unbearable to read.
A fan of memoirs by literary greats, I simply couldn't get into this, a memoir that in its form reflects the morose complexities that came to define its author in his later life. Skip the memoir and instead read "Leading Men" by Christopher Castellani - though its fiction, it gives a much more honest retelling of the life of Tennessee Williams.
At times a poignant reflection on coming of age gay in the 1930s South, Williams begins his memoir with an interesting narrative of his time before fame as he gallivanted and came into his sexual identity. These initial stories are insightful and tell the story of a gay man experiencing the freedoms that come with embracing cruising and sexual exploration. Unfortunately the second half of the book devolves into a meandering collection of stories overflowing with remorse for failing his lover of 14 years, Frankie, who Williams abandons as Frankie dies of cancer. Add to this stories of a self-destructive man who refuses to acknowledge his responsibility in his own downfall and the latter half of the memoir becomes almost unbearable to read.
A fan of memoirs by literary greats, I simply couldn't get into this, a memoir that in its form reflects the morose complexities that came to define its author in his later life. Skip the memoir and instead read "Leading Men" by Christopher Castellani - though its fiction, it gives a much more honest retelling of the life of Tennessee Williams.
ranaelizabeth's review
5.0
Not a true memoir, more of a diary of the present (1970-ish) with random short stories and memories of past events. Told in a stream-of-consciousness manner, often directly addressing the reader. Altogether amazing. And it convinced me to read his short stories rather than the plays.
"Please don't misunderstand me- unless I misunderstand myself" p204.
"Please don't misunderstand me- unless I misunderstand myself" p204.
jessicaesquire's review
I really wish I could have been around when this memoir originally came out. Because what you'd expect from a memoir written by a giant of the American stage and what you get in this memoir are definitely not the same. But the thing is, I am not sure that's bad!
If you want to read this to learn more about where Williams gets his characters from, how he writes, what themes and messages he's trying to get across in his plays, how his personal life is portrayed in his plays, etc etc etc you will get none of that. NONE.
Still, there is some real joy to be found in this kind of loose, rambly, gives-no-****s memoir. It is especially noteworthy that Williams is so open and unashamed about his sex life at a time when most gay men in public life were closeted. Williams would very much like you to know who he did sleep with and who he didn't, often he would like you to know how many times. He is not graphic, but he does like you to know just who he kept around for companionship and who was good for sex. He casually talks about cruising New York looking for sex. It is amazing, I have never read anything like it.
If you like gossip you will get very little. While clearly Williams has had lovers whose names we would recognize, he refuses to share them. There are a lot of pseudonyms. He loves to tell you which actors have been best in his work. But while I'm sure he has several biting opinions, he mostly keeps the criticism to himself. (Unless it's critics, in that case he has plenty.) He can tell you when each play opened and closed, which theaters it was in, how the critics received it, but mostly that's all you will get about much of his work.
Mostly this book feels like you are sitting next to Williams, who is probably on some kind of substances, and letting him go on. (He is quite open about his substance abuse.) It often lacks direction. It often lacks style. But there's something about the looseness of it that is its own strange pleasure, even if it goes on for much longer than you expected.
If you want to read this to learn more about where Williams gets his characters from, how he writes, what themes and messages he's trying to get across in his plays, how his personal life is portrayed in his plays, etc etc etc you will get none of that. NONE.
Still, there is some real joy to be found in this kind of loose, rambly, gives-no-****s memoir. It is especially noteworthy that Williams is so open and unashamed about his sex life at a time when most gay men in public life were closeted. Williams would very much like you to know who he did sleep with and who he didn't, often he would like you to know how many times. He is not graphic, but he does like you to know just who he kept around for companionship and who was good for sex. He casually talks about cruising New York looking for sex. It is amazing, I have never read anything like it.
If you like gossip you will get very little. While clearly Williams has had lovers whose names we would recognize, he refuses to share them. There are a lot of pseudonyms. He loves to tell you which actors have been best in his work. But while I'm sure he has several biting opinions, he mostly keeps the criticism to himself. (Unless it's critics, in that case he has plenty.) He can tell you when each play opened and closed, which theaters it was in, how the critics received it, but mostly that's all you will get about much of his work.
Mostly this book feels like you are sitting next to Williams, who is probably on some kind of substances, and letting him go on. (He is quite open about his substance abuse.) It often lacks direction. It often lacks style. But there's something about the looseness of it that is its own strange pleasure, even if it goes on for much longer than you expected.
More...