I read this book because it was mentioned in a magazine as one of the best memoirs written recently. Within these 400 pages are Amis' musings and opinions about life - how all your various experience make up your life. And specifically, how he, the son of a well known British novelist and poet, grew up to become a writer like his father. Especially poignant were his musings on his own middle age* and those around the time of his father's death (due to Alzheimer's). It was interesting to learn about his family's value system (where marriages are not meant to be sacred, where drugs and alcohol are included at all times, where your own fame and the fame of your family and friends -like Christopher Hitchens and Saul Bellow - are your main indicators of value and happiness in life.)
I was pretty annoyed at the beginning, how much Amis jumped around in time, and how much he seemed to care about social status. But by the end I could enjoyed his timeline acrobatics, and it all seemed to twist into a cohesive storyline. Not just a cohesive storyline; but all his words fitting together so... nicely. One reviewer called it 'disciplined literary exuberance'. The genius in craft makes up for the bragging of fame and connections. I would not like Martin Amis as a person but I sure did like the way he fashioned this book and I completely agree that it should be on any list of really well-written memoirs.
*Facing my own middle age I especially enjoyed reading someone else's perspective on the subject: "Youth can perhaps be defined as the illusion of your own durability. The final evaporation of this illusion parches the skin beneath the eyes and makes your hair crackle to the brush. It was over. There would be hell to pay. Dying suns of a certain size perform the alchemist's nightmare: they turn gold into lead. And there we were ... heading towards base metal. Transmutation had come..."
by Jennifer Dawn
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