The Black Veil: a mini-review, or a review of a review.

This is possibly the funniest book review I've read in a long time.

I happen to agree with the reviewer too, though I wouldn't have used such strong language. I've definitely read worse than Rick Moody, but he's one of the least self-aware writers on my bookshelf. This reviewer discussed the Black Veil, Moody's memoir. He said it much better than I could. I'm not sure I'll be great at giving caustic reviews -- because I love to love books, and I don't like disliking them. But I did dislike this one and I'm so happy I found someone who articulated my opinion. I fell off my chair reading this one!

The Black Veil suffers from "too many words" the way that Mozart's music didn't suffer from "too many notes". While Mozart's contemporaries did not understand the complexities of his music they've withstood centuries of study. I'm not sure I can say the same for this memoir. It's one of the few books I just could not get through. 

(I can't say how rare that is. I always finish books.)  

I read the first few paragraphs and I felt that perhaps Mr. Moody had an idea as to how he'd like others to perceive his life. Far from being succinct, he editorializes to the point where his experiences -- and the experiences of those family members he writes about -- become inauthentic. He can rhapsodize about going to the bathroom. Each aspect of his life is suffused with a degree of importance that just isn't there.

Maybe I have unreasonable expectations of my memoirs, and I demand that my authors have interesting lives. But I have a feeling that this memoir might have been interesting if he'd concentrated on different aspects of his setting, if he'd stopped using million dollar words and instead focused on the simplicity of honest, straightforward storytelling. I was under the impression that this book might've been much, much shorter and a heck of a lot easier to read if he'd written it that way.

I'm not too bitter. I spent a dollar on this book at the Princeton library, where I go every week with my friend. We're good study partners, and annoy each other only as much as is absolutely necessary. This book will serve as a marker of the time we spent together. The cover I have is very, very pretty. Though it does have that horrific and misleading quote from the Washington Post: "Compulsively readable ... A profound meditation on madness, shame and history ... one of the finest memoirs in recent years." I beg to disagree.

I swear this isn't my review of the day, but I couldn't let this opportunity go. That review was too good.