Morrissey's Autobiography.
There are no normal chapter divisions and he is very fond of adverbs, adjectives and metaphors. He really didn't like school.
All true. I've just finished it.
There are though three very broad divisions you can make; life before The Smiths, the Smiths years and the court case, and life after The Smiths.
The first part (pre Smiths) is a great read and almost poetry, Morrissey showing all of the same lyrical skills in his prose. A line that sticks in my mind is about a 'corn plastered swimming pool'. I suspect he took a pleasure in the construction of this section, honed it, refined it, shaped it. It shows. The book's worth a read for this section alone. If he continued in a similar vein until the book's end then it'd be arguably a contender for a modern classic. Sadly, it doesn't and, so, isn't (imho).
The second part of the book can only be considered a whine, a diatribe, a big sulk. He goes ON AND ON about the court case and I must admit to just flicking through page after page of his outpourings of injustice until I could be assured that the noise had stopped. Suffice it to say that I'd agree with Judge Weeks' description of 'devious, truculent and unreliable'. Though I'd add 'petulant' as well. Morrissey's time with The Smiths themselves goes largely unmentioned btw, excepting the odd mention of recording sessions. Most disappointing from my perspective.
The final section (the Morrissey solo years) is for the most part dull, inane and lifeless autobiography. A simple recounting of events and dates. It could be, without disrespect, footballer's prose.... (with notable exceptions, I'm sure). That said, his descriptions of both Julie Burchill and James Maker are sensitive and moving, I'm sure I'll read the latter again at some stage. Overall, in this final section, I got the sense of him trying to justify himself to both himself and others. We're treated again and again to tallies of people attending his concerts, to 'the love' coming from them. This is probably true but it's presented others as a kind of 'who needs The Smiths' yah-bo sucks. If the sight of 1200 brawling Mexicans brings him happiness then who am I to say anything.
I came away from this book with an entirely new impression of Morrissey. I now think him not so much as a sensitive innocent but more aware, more manipulative and controlling, particularly where money is concerned. Still, there is no disputing his gift with words and it's for that that I admire him. Just a shame he wasn't able to exercise more control and illustrate that skill throughout this book.